


Awakenings IV (A Mutally Beneficial Arrangement - in which Greg Lestrade is a horny bastard, and Mycroft Holmes knows it)

by sanguisuga



Series: Awakenings [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Chastity Device, Frottage, Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Polyamory, Porn, Toys, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:18:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 46
Words: 133,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/pseuds/sanguisuga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft intrudes on Greg's happy family and makes an indecent proposal...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation of my Greg & John & Sherlock universe - Greg & Mycroft. Now, this has never been one of my favorite pairings, but for some reason this story popped into my head and it just keeps flowing, so I'm gonna go with it. Pretty much B/D only, as my own tastes don't run into the S/M, so I don't feel qualified to write about it. I would love to know what everyone thinks about this new twist...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft makes a proposal...

Greg trudged up the stairs to 221B, his head and body feeling remarkably heavy. Nearly 8pm, and it had been one _hell_ of a day. Donovan had seemingly lost some paperwork, Anderson had been distracted trying to track it down for her and he had somehow managed to contaminate an entire box of evidence from a very crucial investigation.

Greg had been pulled into the Chief Inspector's office for a charming little sit-down regarding the inner workings of his team and whether or not certain people should be moved to different divisions in order to suppress some rather odious rumours and to improve the functionality of the department.   
   
So Greg had to lecture them about keeping their extracurriculars to just that, and not bring their simpering little drama into the office with them and Donovan - _'_ _what the fuck anyway, you're smarter than this,'_ and Anderson - _'Jesus Christ man keep it in your fucking pants, all right?'_   He had warned them that at any further hint of fraternisation, he would be disciplining them and staff would have to be reassigned. They had left his office duly chastised, but he wasn't at all certain that the warning had fully sunk in. 

All in all, a rather shit day, and Greg was looking forward to nothing more than a quiet cup of tea on the sofa, hopefully while wedged in between the two most wonderful men in his world. Greg needed cuddles - he was man enough to admit it. He found himself wondering if he could transfer Anderson to Wales. Or maybe Siberia... He shook his head - probably out of his jurisdiction, that.

The door to the sitting room was closed, which wasn't all that strange, but as Greg put his hand on the knob, he paused. There was a stillness behind the door that was definitely unusual; a quiet tension in the air, an indistinct echo of something big just waiting to pop. He stood there silently as he contemplated. Since moving in with John and Sherlock over three months ago, Greg had been surprised that to find that for the most part, it had been remarkably sane.  
   
Well, he had come home once or twice to find John in a strop because of something incredibly insensitive that Sherlock had spouted off about without due consideration. A couple of other times Sherlock had been in a similar strop because John wouldn't let him blow something up in his lab downstairs. On one particularly memorable night, Greg had walked in on the sight of Sherlock face-down on the sofa, his long legs waving about precariously while John sat solidly on his back, cross-armed and cross-legged, an absolutely stormy expression on his normally benign face.  
   
Greg had simply done a smart about-face and had headed down to the corner pub for a couple of hours. Whatever Sherlock had done that time, Greg had determined that it was most definitely not his division. He still didn't know what it had been all about, and he most decidedly did not _want_ to know. When he had returned home after a soothing pint or two, John and Sherlock had been cool toward each other, but it seemed that their argument had been settled. At least Greg had assumed so, since no-one was being physically restrained any longer. Each of these tense occasions had been preceded by this same quiet stillness in the air. So Greg braced himself, and slowly opened the door.  
   
Sherlock was in his armchair, a chilly stare being directed at a red-haired man in the chair opposite. Sherlock's eyes flickered to Greg's face, and a brief look of concern flitted across his features before he locked eyes with the intruder again.  
   
Ah. "Hullo, Mycroft."  
   
"Gregory. So good to see you." Greg shivered slightly as Mycroft's cool grey eyes skimmed over him, probably taking in all the details of his oh-so-wonderful day.  
   
Greg shed his mack and suit jacket and hung them up before toeing off his shoes and leaving them by the sofa. He crossed over to Sherlock and bent down to give him a quick kiss. "All right, baby?" His voice was a mere whisper against Sherlock's ear as he checked in with his lover.  
   
"Fine, thank you." Greg started to straighten up, but Sherlock abruptly captured his face in his long white fingers and brought their lips together, snogging Greg earnestly. Even bent over as awkwardly as he was, Greg sighed as he felt some of the tension of the day slip away. He pressed his forehead into Sherlock's for a moment before standing straight and slipping past Mycroft on the way to the kitchen.  
   
John had already started the kettle, tiny angel that he was. Greg moved up behind him and snaked his arms around his waist, dropping his chin onto John's shoulder and burying his nose in his neck. They stood like that for a long moment with John silently offering his support, and Greg gratefully leaning on it. Then the kettle clicked off, and Greg released him reluctantly.  
   
"Been here long?"  
   
John poured the boiling water into the four mugs he had arranged on a tray. "Little over a half-hour. They've just been staring daggers at each other the whole time."  
   
Greg sighed. "As per usual, then. Why is he even here?"  
   
"Dunno. Wouldn't say. I think he was waiting for you, actually."  
   
Greg groaned. "Must be time for 'The Talk', then. _'Don't hurt my brother, or I'll make you disappear as if you were never even born.'_ Jesus, Mary and Joseph. And all the saints, while we're at it..."  
   
John chuckled and glanced over at him, and then paused to take a longer look. "Jesus, love. You look beat." He reached up and cupped the back of Greg's neck and pulled him down for a deep kiss. A little more of the tension melted away.   
   
Greg huffed out a breath. "I've had a _fantastically_ crap day, and this nonsense is just the ending I needed." He ran his fingers through his silver hair and heaved out a monumental sigh. "I was really looking forward to some serious cuddles tonight."  
   
John laughed quietly at his lover's impressive but adorable pout as he took up the tray. "As soon as we get rid of Mycroft, you'll get cuddles. I promise. Maybe you'll even get a bit more." He winked and led the way out of the kitchen. Greg's mouth quirked up, the sad moue on his lips vanishing completely as he watched John's backside heading into the sitting room. John looked over his shoulder at him and gave his hips an extra little wiggle.  
   
Greg snorted and then followed him, flopping down unceremoniously onto the sofa. He propped his right arm on the armrest and put his head in his hand, stifling a yawn. John finished passing out the tea and sat down next to him, leaning into him slightly. Greg sat up a bit straighter, taking his mug in both hands. He took a long draught, sighing lustily as the warmth filled his chest and belly. Strong but milky, no sweetener - just the way he liked it.  
   
"John, you really do brew a remarkable cup of tea." They all stared at Mycroft in silence, and his eyebrows rose higher as he looked at each of them in turn. "It's true. Even better than at the Palace, and I'm not exaggerating." He eyed his mug dubiously. "I'm not entirely sure about your choice in china, however."  
   
John grinned at the solid white mug, adorned with a large block-letter 'M'. They all had one, marked with their first initial. They had been on sale, and John had tossed them into the cart on a whim, even including a 'V' for Mrs. Hudson. "It's the only way to keep them all straight. Both you and Sherlock take yours sweet, atrociously so, but he prefers honey over sugar. I take a little sugar, and Greg none at all. If I've just got four plain white mugs, God only knows who would end up with what..."  
   
Mycroft blinked at him. "I am, well, surprised - and rather pleased - that you took the effort to remember my preferences. Thank you, John."  
   
Sherlock scoffed. "He didn't make any effort, Mycroft. He just remembers." He glanced at John fondly. "He's rather like an idiot savant in regards to tea." John snorted and smiled faintly, graciously accepting the backhanded compliment. Sherlock glared at his brother. "So now that we're all here, tell us what is the quickest way to get you to leave."  
   
Mycroft took another delicate sip of his tea as he re-crossed his legs. "As you no doubt have deduced, I am here to discuss your rather - unique - arrangement."  
   
"Why is it any business of yours?"  
   
"I am your elder brother. I worry."  
   
"Worry about what? You spent years telling me you were worried that I'd never have anyone in my life because I pushed everyone away. Now I have two partners. Two! John makes sure that I eat and sleep - as annoying as that is - and Greg helps to keep my mind - and body - busy. It couldn't be any more perfect!"  
   
Mycroft eyed Sherlock imperiously. "It isn't just you that I worry about, brother dear." He turned slightly in his chair. "John, are you happy with this arrangement?"  
   
John looked indignant. "I'm the one who suggested it in the first place, you interfering prat!" Greg immediately reached out to clasp his hand silently and gave it a reassuring squeeze. John took in a calming breath. "Yes, your brother can be a bit of a git at times, or rather an enormous one, but we've managed to work through whatever happens to come along. And if it isn't something that we can figure out ourselves, Greg is a fantastic negotiator." He squeezed Greg's hand in return. "This isn't something that I ever thought would happen, and there have been bumps. But I am honestly the happiest I've ever been. Ever."  
   
Sherlock just looked smug as Mycroft turned again. "Gregory - "  
   
Greg held out a hand, halting Mycroft in his tracks. "Mycroft. I get what you're trying to do, and I think I may actually appreciate it. You're looking after Sherlock and maybe even trying to make sure that he doesn't inadvertently damage anyone. But we're all big boys, and we can take care of ourselves. I can't promise you that nobody will get hurt. I can only promise you that we're looking after each other to the best of our - sometimes limited - abilities. I am happy. John is happy. Sherlock is happy. We're all one big happy fucking family. Got it?"  
   
Mycroft smirked ever-so-slightly. "And that's why you're Father."  
   
"I - what?"  
   
"You may have moved into their space, Detective Inspector. But you are the head of this household."  
   
Greg blushed, pondering where this nonsense was suddenly coming from. "Erm... Well, I am the oldest..."  
   
"And the wisest. You're a natural leader, Gregory. The day-to-day interactions in this flat all revolve around _you_. You and John seem to have a sort of telepathy, but it's simply that he's used to following orders and you're used to giving them. You don't even have to speak them out. You want something done, John understands and does it. I've seen you quell Sherlock with nothing more than a look. It's very subtle, and I doubt that anyone would even notice the dynamic unless they were to view it from the outside, as I have."  
   
"Wait - you _what_?!" Greg rose out of his seat like a shot, slamming his empty mug on the coffee table. Suddenly, Sherlock was just there in front of him, facing down his brother, using his body as a shield between the two men.  
   
"How many _fucking_ times, Mycroft? How many? I will find them all, I will destroy them and I will set booby traps so the next time your goons try to come in here and place more, they will be leaving with considerably less skin on their faces than they came in with."  
   
Mycroft stood as well, straightening his suit jacket as he tilted his head. "And I told _you_ , Sherlock. I worry. I wanted to be sure that you weren't being taken advantage of."  
   
"For God's sake! Do I _look_ as though I'm being taken advantage of?"  
   
Mycroft surveyed him carefully. "I would say no, except for those rather - colourful - bruises on your neck."  
   
"Ah." Sherlock blushed faintly. "Greg likes to bite. Apparently... I like being bitten. Completely consensual."  
   
Mycroft's eyes widened slightly and his cheeks went a delicate shade of pink. "I see."

"I was surprised as well. Although it isn't nearly as exciting when John does it. I've tried to determine why, but so far the data is inconclusive."

"Sherlock, love." John stood and reached out to grab his hand. "Your brother does not need to know all the details of your data-gathering."

Mycroft blinked and cleared his throat. "Sherlock, despite what you might think, I don't have cameras all over your flat. Just in a few - strategic - areas. None in your bedroom. I promise you."  
   
"Which means that anything that may have occurred out here..."

" _Ahem_. Well... Yes. And the kitchen."

Greg leant his forehead into Sherlock's shoulder with a world-weary sigh. "Ah... _fuck_. I am way too tired to be dealing with this shit right now."

John ran a comforting hand down Greg's back. "Mycroft, that's..."

Mycroft blushed utterly beetroot-red as he hastened to defend himself. "I assure you..."

Greg's voice shook with barely repressed rage. "If you haven't been getting your jollies by watching your little brother exploring his newfound sexuality, then what have you been doing?"  
   
"Mostly? Watching you." Mycroft heaved a sigh. "I find myself unaccountably intrigued with _you_ , Gregory. It's been increasingly difficult to concentrate on my work lately. Especially when you parade around in nothing but your pants - or even less, God help me - all the blasted time."

Greg sputtered furiously. "Well, here's an idea for you. Get rid of the cameras, and stop _fucking_ watching us. Or me. Or whatever." He eyed the red-haired man venomously. "You'll get over your crush eventually."

Mycroft sighed again, clearly fighting the urge to roll his eyes sardonically. "Don't you think I've tried that?"

"Perhaps you just haven't tried hard enough. Look. I am with Sherlock, and John. I am happy."

"But are you satisfied?"

Greg felt the blood drain from his face. "Am I - what?" He couldn't miss the somewhat significant glance that John and Sherlock shared at that moment.

Mycroft's grey eyes locked onto Greg's, and he could see the faintest hint of desperation behind the cool façade. "Are you _satisfied_? Answer truthfully, please."

Greg blinked at him gormlessly. The truth? The truth was that he was a horny bastard. He knew that. And his two lovers, well...they weren't. It seemed that part of the reason Sherlock had been so successful at ignoring his libido for so long was because he really didn't have much of one to begin with. Aside from their first month together, during which he had been nearly insatiable, Sherlock was good with a twice-monthly fuck, if that.

And while John could go two or maybe three times on the weekends, during the week, he just wasn't all that interested. He was always willing to lend a hand or mouth if his lover was feeling desperate, but those encounters had always left Greg feeling vaguely unfulfilled, since John didn't always seem to want or even need to get off in return. Part of the thrill and wonder of sex for Greg was that push and pull, the give and take of a truly consensual experience.  
   
Greg himself could go at least once a day, if not more. Was he getting enough sex? He supposed so - the minimum he required, at least. Was he getting as much as he wanted? No, not really. Was it worth giving up what he had? Absolutely _not_. He reached out and grasped Sherlock's hand with his right and John's with his left. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when John tugged at his hand sharply.

"Greg, it's okay. We know. We've actually, ah...discussed this possibility. I was just waiting for the right opportunity to broach the subject." John glanced at Mycroft. "Granted, I wasn't expecting the opportunity to present itself in quite this form, however..."

Greg felt his mouth drop open and flop about a bit and he fought to maintain control of it. "You've _discussed_ this?"

"The possibility of arranging an additional 'friend' for you, yes." Sherlock's voice was soft.

"Jesus. You sound like a mum trying to arrange a playdate. Sherlock, you cannot seriously be okay with this."

"I will admit, this is not who I would have chosen for you, but it isn't my decision."

"Like hell it isn't. You are my partner. You and John have veto power over any decision I may make, and you can use that at any time you like. You say 'no', and the matter is closed." Greg pulled Sherlock in close and laid a soft kiss on his temple. "Sherlock. Baby. I know that this is all still terribly new to you, and perhaps confusing, but I need you to understand how important you are to me. There is no 'my' decision in this matter, or in any other. There is only 'our' decision. Okay?"

Sherlock blinked at Greg slowly. "I - very well. I will consider the matter carefully, and if I have any true objections, I will be sure to discuss them with you."

"Thank you, Sherlock." Greg turned back to Mycroft, looking him up and down shrewdly. "Why me? I'm sure there are plenty of others out there that could pique your interest."

"My brother trusts you completely. I can think of no better recommendation." Mycroft blushed again. "And you are a rather handsome man, Gregory." His eyes suddenly dropped away from Greg's steady gaze to the floor at his feet.

"That isn't everything, is it?" Greg moved to stand in front of Mycroft, who kept his eyes firmly fixed on the floor. "All that talk about leaders, and following orders... You want someone else to take control, don't you?" Greg nodded to himself thoughtfully as something vague clarified in his head. "No, that isn't all - you _need_ it." He clasped Mycroft's chin and lifted his face, pursing his lips as he studied him carefully, but all he could see in the man was need and desire. Greg put his mouth to Mycroft's ear to whisper. "If I ordered you to your knees right now, you'd do it, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, Gregory." His voice was a mere murmur as Mycroft trembled under his grip. 

"I wouldn't do that to you. Not in front of Sherlock. But you know that, don't you?" Mycroft nodded shakily, the handle of his umbrella creaking in his grip. "That's why you won't go to a club, or some kind of professional. They're all about testing limits, not adhering to them. You need a firm hand, not a cruel one."

Mycroft let out a shuddering breath. "Now do you understand what I meant when I called you a natural leader? Already, you know exactly what I need. And I know what you want. Will you allow me to give it to you?"

Greg released his chin and slid his hand down the lapels of Mycroft's impeccable suit, watching the progress of his fingers. "What are you proposing, exactly?"

The elder Holmes shivered slightly as he cleared his throat. "A mutually beneficial arrangement. I stop by, you use me as you wish, and then I leave. You are free to be with your paramours for the rest of the evening. I may request your presence at certain functions from time to time, but you will always be free to refuse me for any reason, or for no reason at all. We will be under no obligations to each other, aside from keeping each party informed of any other dalliances for health purposes."

"Gosh, you make it all sound so romantic n'shit." Greg clucked his tongue in contemplation. "How often would you be 'stopping by', then?"

"I would hope every weeknight. If I am unable to pull myself away before the hour you prefer, I will alert you in whichever manner suits you. Texting is of course the most convenient, but again, it will be at your discretion. Is that fair?"

Greg found himself studying Mycroft with a new eye. It wasn't like he had never had his imagination turn in this direction before, but having the man actually standing before him, essentially offering him the entirety of his body with no reservations - oh. Greg smiled slowly as he took in the vibrant red hair, the creamy complexion dotted with faint freckles - those might be fun to count, he decided. And how many more delightful ginger spots might be lurking underneath that cool exterior, the bespoke armour that kept the true Mycroft Holmes so well protected? Greg's breath caught slightly at the absolute need lurking behind those cool grey eyes. The elder Holmes was a bit taller than Sherlock, and yes, a bit stouter, but not fat, even for all of Sherlock's taunts. Oh, this could be very interesting indeed...

And every fucking weeknight. Ambrosia.

Greg nodded curtly and abruptly turned his back on Mycroft to go to Sherlock. "Baby, it's up to you. John doesn't seem to have any objections." He saw Mycroft pass John a folded piece of paper out of the corner of his eye. Sly bastard probably brought the results of his last round of testing. Presumptuous. Greg was already devising a fitting punishment for him when he felt Sherlock's warm lips press to his.

Sherlock pulled back. "You want this. You want him."

Greg's response was immediate. "Doesn't matter. Like I said, if you say no then that's the answer. He'll be out on his arse on the street."

Sherlock giggled a little at the imagery. "Every weeknight? We'll have to hide the cream cakes..." He looked over to where his brother was standing, fiddling uneasily with the handle of his umbrella. His silver-blue eyes narrowed and his lips pursed as he debated the possibilities in his head. "I say give him a chance. You can always dump him later if we deem it necessary."

"So considerate." Greg reached out and pulled John in closer. "Love?"

John waved the test results with a little smile. "I think you should go for it. He's clean. Standard protection rules."

Greg grinned. "I knew it. Bastard's gonna pay for that. Okay, so hands and mouth are good to go, anything involving the arse, wrap it up."

John chuckled. "That is the standard, yes. Such a way with words you have, my love."

Sherlock made a noise of pure disgust. "I do not need to hear about anything involving my brother's arse, thank you very much."

Greg's grin sharpened as he patted Sherlock's bottom. "Ah, well, that's just too bad, in't it? Cause I'll be telling ya all about it when I'm done with him."

The younger man rolled his eyes at his lover's attempt to rile him, but simply could not keep his mouth shut. "I may vomit."

Greg laughed as he gathered his lovers close to him, holding them tight. "Thank you. I realise this wasn't exactly how you planned for this to happen. I am overwhelmed that you anticipated something like this and had actually discussed it. Without me, of course, so we will be talking about that a bit later. I love you both tremendously." He kissed them both on the cheek. "Now - are there any restrictions?"

John shook his head decisively. "Nothing beyond what you've already mentioned as far as safety goes - you don't have to be quite as stringent as we were with you-know-who."

Sherlock looked between them, utterly confused. "Restrictions? Whatever do you mean?"

John smiled softly. "Sherlock, love. Some couples negotiate terms in situations like this. Some view something like - say, kissing - to be too intimate. So if their partners are playing with someone new, they may request that they not kiss."

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "That's patently ridiculous. Kissing is one of the most pleasurable activities two people can do together. Besides, why would I refuse Greg anything that might make him happy?"

Greg pulled Sherlock into a fierce embrace. "You continually surprise and delight me, you know that?" He turned to face Mycroft, who was beginning to look a bit disheartened. "Oi. You. Upstairs."

Mycroft gaped at him a little stupidly. "Now? I didn't think you'd actually come to a decision tonight. I'm not, um - prepared."

Greg blinked at him. "What, did you think we were gonna skip straight to the fucking? Think of tonight as a little getting-to-know-you party. Just you and me. _Upstairs_. Now. Leave the brolly."

Mycroft bit his lip and hurried to comply, leaving his brother to stare after him in consternation. "Last time I saw him move that fast was when they had a sale on pies at Tesco."

Greg laughed. "God, you're a right bastard." He glanced aside and pulled Sherlock in close. "I have a little project for you, baby. I've always wondered if there were any little spy gadgets tucked away in that umbrella of his. I'm leaving it to you to suss out its secrets. Just try not to break it, yeah?"

Sherlock grinned with delight as he pulled away and snatched up the British Government's most prized possession on the way down to his lab.

John leant in to give Greg a simple kiss. "Well done, love. That'll keep him occupied for a bit, anyway. Keep his mind off whatever is happening between his lover and his brother upstairs."

Greg shook himself lightly. "Yeah, it's weird, in't it? You really think he's okay with it?"

"I think he will be. As long as it's our bed you're coming back to every night."

"Speaking of, I'm still in dire need of snuggles. Tonight, I'm the monkey in the middle."

John smiled. "I think that can be arranged." He glanced toward the stairs curiously. "What are you going to do up there?"

"Honestly? No clue. Bit new to the whole domination thing, although he seems to think I'm a natural. Guess I'll just bluff my way through."

John winked. "You won't need to do much bluffing, love. He's right, of course. Just think about the first time you had me." He put his arms around Greg's neck and dropped his voice to a low growl. "Taking me from behind, just like some kind of beast. Lovely thick cock in my arse, strong teeth set in my neck. You couldn't have been more dominant. And I loved every single second."

Greg sucked in a trembling breath and reached down to adjust himself in his pants. "Well, Jesus fuck, John."

"Just helping you get in the right frame of mind, sweetheart. Now get on up there and show the scary government man who's boss." He smacked Greg on the arse and turned away to start collecting tea mugs.

"Tart." A merry peal of laughter followed Greg up the stairs, to John's old attic room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Arrangement is finalised and (ahem) consummated...

Greg opened the door to find Mycroft silently standing at the tiny attic window, looking out over Baker Street. Greg stood in the doorway for a moment, surveying the wreck of the room. When he had moved in a few months earlier, a fair number of his belongings had made their home here, random boxes scattered about and piled up on the far side of the room opposite the tiny bathroom. He looked around a bit more, realising fairly quickly that some sort of organisation would have to happen if they were going to be making regular use of it again. John's old bed was clear other than a couple of threadbare pillows and had a sheet pulled over it, more as a dust cover than anything else. There was a small desk placed along the wall to his right, and a heavy wardrobe tucked away in the corner. Not very inviting, but suitable for their purposes, at least for tonight.  
    
Mycroft cleared his throat quietly and Greg looked up at his silhouette, standing tall and elegant against the dim light of the window. Quite a striking pose, that. He smiled to himself, shaking his head lightly. The man certainly knew how to work a room, that was for sure. He stepped further inside and closed the door behind him before flipping the switch on the only source of light in the room, a dusty and rather wobbly floor lamp. Greg opened the top drawer of the tiny desk and motioned Mycroft closer.  
   
"Mobile. Watch. Any other electronic devices that you may have secreted upon your person - they go in here, as well as any change or jewelry or small items that you don't want to lose." Mycroft nodded and began to empty his pockets. "Every time you enter this flat, you will come straight up here and you will strip. You will not be required to do so if you have business with your brother, but you still must come in here and wait to discuss it with me first. You will leave that blasted umbrella in the stand by the front door. That is how I will know if you are waiting for me. Understood?"  
   
"Yes, sir."  
   
Greg shook his head emphatically. "No, none of that. You will call me Gregory. No Sir or Master nonsense. I will take the lead, I will shag the hell out of you and I may even order you about a bit, but you are your own person. Is that also understood?" Mycroft nodded again, something very like gratitude flickering over his features. "You may speak freely unless I tell you otherwise. Anything that happens in here will stay between us, unless it directly affects my relationship with Sherlock and John." Greg paused and gave Mycroft a significant look. "Unless you've got a bloody camera in here as well?"  
   
"Ah." Mycroft removed his jacket and arranged it carefully over a corner of the disused wardrobe.  
   
Greg shook his head in exasperation. "So you _were_ watching John this whole time. You know that he was aware of it, right?"

Mycroft blushed faintly. "Indeed."

"Filthy little perv." He shook his head again as he gestured toward the door vaguely. "All other cameras in the flat will be removed. In fact, pull out your mobile and get them turned off now."

Mycroft nodded and did so, firing off a quick text. "Done." He placed his phone back in the drawer.

"If I find that you've violated our privacy in any manner again, this arrangement will cease immediately. And no more invitations to Christmas, of course."  
   
"Heaven forfend."  
   
Greg eyed him, pursing his lips at Mycroft's flippant tone. "C'mon then, off with the rest of it." Mycroft stripped slowly, placing his cufflinks and tie pin in the desk drawer. "That camera," Greg pointed at Mycroft's jacket, "will remain. It will be wired to a closed personal server, which will be situated in this room. No external links."  
   
Mycroft's eyes sparkled with delight. "Imagine the scandal."  
   
"Oh yes. Especially if Sherlock decided to get all hacky one day. I'd say to put a lock on the door, but we both know that would accomplish nothing. If Sherlock wants in, he'll find a way. Even if he just uses poor John to batter the door down." He watched with interest as Mycroft continued to strip down. Waistcoat, shirt, trousers, vest, boxers - and Lord help him, sock garters. "The layers on you. My God."   
   
Mycroft glanced up, his brow wrinkling in consternation. "I take great pride in my appearance, Gregory." He folded everything carefully and placed it on top of the desk before shutting the desk drawer firmly.  
   
"As well you should. Pretty packaging for a pretty trinket." Mycroft's startled grey eyes crinkled as the first genuine smile that Greg could remember seeing on that cold face burst forth.  
   
"Thank you, Gregory."  
   
Greg nodded as he indicated the desk chair. "Sit. I expect the surveillance to be taken care of by tomorrow evening, including the modifications in here."  
   
"I will make the arrangements, of course."  
   
"So. Is anything that I've said unacceptable to you?"  
   
Mycroft smiled faintly. "No. Everything you've mentioned so far is remarkably reasonable."  
   
Greg sat on the bed and folded his hands in his lap. "While I appreciate your confidence in my 'natural' abilities, this is the first time I've attempted something like this. To this degree, anyway. There will obviously be a learning curve. You _will_ tell me if something makes you uncomfortable, or if I'm not meeting your needs. Like I said, you can speak freely."  
   
"Thank you, Gregory."  
   
"You're welcome." He smiled gently and tilted his head. "Safeword?"

Mycroft's fingers flexed on his thighs as his chest hitched slightly. "I find that the traditional traffic light system is the most effective, as it's simple to remember and the meanings are fairly universal."

"Agreed. And your limits?"  
   
"Fairly standard. Hard - children, animals, elimination. Extreme pain, nonconsensual roleplay. Soft - humiliation, breathplay, blood. I'm afraid I don't have a complete list, as I've been surprised by various requests in the past. Some things will just need to be discussed as they come up."  
   
"Of course." Greg's voice dropped into a rough purr. "Now tell me what you _like_."

Mycroft blushed prettily, his eyes once more fixed on the floor at Greg's feet. "Servicing, giving pleasure. Bondage, with ropes, especially. Sensation play. Toys. Orgasm denial. Roleplay with a particular emphasis on unequal power dynamics."  
   
Greg cocked an eyebrow. "Like professor and student, doctor and nurse, that sort of thing?" Mycroft nodded silently, biting his bottom lip delicately. "Oh dear. Do you want to be the altar boy to my priest, Mycroft?"  
   
The taller man's body gave an obvious jerk and his cock, which had been half-hard under Greg's previous scrutiny, instantly filled with blood. "Oh, that is lovely." Greg laughed quietly. "You know, I seem to remember a case involving smuggled religious artefacts that Sherlock had gone undercover for. I wonder if he still has the cassock lying about somewhere..." Mycroft gave voice to a soft moan as his body jerked again. "Obviously, the concept of costumes ups the ante a bit." Mycroft bit his lower lip harder and grinned sheepishly. "Stand for me, please."  
   
Mycroft stood, his knees trembling slightly as Greg circled him slowly. He trailed his fingertips along Mycroft's creamy skin as he moved, bestowing fleeting touches on chest, stomach, back and shoulders before halting behind him and cupping an arse-cheek in one hand. Mycroft's body quivered and a low sigh escaped his mouth.

"So soft." Greg chuckled quietly. "But of course you are. Pampered to within an inch of your life, aren't you? Probably spend more than my annual pay on body cremes alone." He moved back to face him, splaying his palm over Mycroft's lower belly, feeling the muscles underneath tense and flutter. "But not soft all the way through, are you?"

Mycroft swallowed. "There is a certain amount of, ah - training - that is required for people in my position, so..."

"Could probably show John a thing or two, eh?" Greg ran his palm upward until his fingertips brushed lightly against a pale pink nipple. It stiffened under his touch and Mycroft hissed in a sharp breath. "Maybe I'll have you do just that. After all, your brother does get himself into some awkward situations. Wouldn't hurt to have his live-in bodyguard up on all current protection techniques."

"I am happy to help in any way you desire, Gregory."

Greg tweaked the soft pink nub under his fingers and grinned at the gasp it elicited. "Of course you are. That's why you're here, after all." He looked up into cool grey eyes, his grin sharpening slightly. "To help satisfy your little brother's partner." He reached for the other nipple, giving it a sharp twist. Mycroft moaned low, his cheeks blazing bright red. "And you were so bloody sure of yourself that you brought test results to show to his other partner." Greg hardened his gaze and his voice. "Rather presumptuous, don't you think?"

Mycroft swallowed uneasily and his mouth formed a tiny 'o'. "Ah. Gregory, I - I assure you that I meant nothing by it. It was just..."

"Just in case? You - or one of your lackeys - took the time to print it out, fold it up and put it in your pocket."

"Gregory, I did not have any assumptions when I came here tonight."

"You could have just as easily pulled them up on your mobile when or if it became necessary."

Mycroft blinked at him rapidly. "I - hm. I did not think of that."

Greg chuckled incredulously. "Nice to know that even the omnipotent can fuck things up every now and again."

"I am sorry, Gregory. Truly."

"Of course you are. Still." Greg quirked an eyebrow and Mycroft flushed hotly.

He dropped his eyes to the floor and gripped his thighs. "I understand."

"Relax, My." Greg ran a soothing hand down Mycroft's chest to his belly and then lower. He moaned again as Greg's rough hand wrapped around his silky-smooth flesh. "I seem to recall orgasm denial as one of your 'likes', which - frankly - I simply cannot comprehend." Mycroft blushed as Greg shook his head unbelievingly. "I'm going to make you come, pet."

 _"Oh."_ Mycroft's eyes widened as his breath caught in his throat, his chest hitching under Greg's watchful gaze.

"Do you object?"

He shook his head slowly. "No, Gregory. Wha-whatever you wish."

"Oh, pet." Greg smiled slowly as Mycroft gasped quietly and the blush rose in his cheeks and started to spread downward. "Hm. You like that, don't you? Not just the feel of my hand on you - you like the idea of being my _pet_ , don't you?"

Mycroft moaned. "Yes, Gregory."

Greg continued to stroke him slowly. "How long has it been?"

"Uh...tw-twelve days."

"Right. And the longest you've gone?"

Mycroft trembled almost imperceptibly, clutching even harder to his own thighs. " _Ah_. About t-ten weeks..."

"And was that self-imposed, or were you under somebody's control at the time?"

"My last partner. I can't seem to - _ah God_ \- last very long on my own." The muscles in his neck flexed as he restrained the urge to throw his head back, fighting to keep his eyes lowered.

"Of course not. You have to be doing it for someone to really make it worthwhile, don't you?"

Mycroft groaned. "You do understand. I - _mm_ \- knew you would."

Greg released him abruptly and reached behind to give him a little shove in the small of the back. "On your knees, on the edge of the bed there. Face the opposite wall."

Mycroft moved into Greg's desired position smoothly, settling down on his heels and placing his hands on his thighs. Greg hummed in appreciation as he slipped his shirt over his head and removed his belt. He moved in close and pressed his chest to Mycroft's back, skin-to-skin. Mycroft moaned and allowed his head to tip back onto Greg's shoulder.

"You're so - _oh_." Greg wrapped his right hand around Mycroft's throat and leant down to lick a long wet stripe from the nape of his neck to behind his left ear. Mycroft's body jerked hard and Greg tightened his grip, holding him in place.

He growled quietly in Mycroft's ear. "I suppose that visible marks are out."

Mycroft shivered with delight. "That might make things awkward, but I could probably come up with some reasonable explanation for their presence..."

"Mm. That's all right. Most of my favourite spots are easily hidden anyway." Greg continued to mouth and nibble at Mycroft's neck, relishing in every twitch and shudder that he wrung from his body.

"Oh? Such as?"

Greg smiled at the clear tone of longing that was present in his new pet's voice, pressing his nose into the hair at the nape of his neck. He shifted slightly and opened his mouth wide, biting down firmly on the join of neck and shoulder. He allowed himself a bit more pressure than he usually employed with his other lovers, and was rewarded when Mycroft's entire body stiffened and he groaned loudly. Greg sucked deeply, his arms tightening around his new charge, pressing his clothed erection into Mycroft's smooth but delightfully freckled back.

"Gregory." Mycroft writhed against him in desperation. "You're so _hard_. Please. Let me take care of you." He moaned again. "Please."

Greg smiled against his burgeoning mark, tonguing at it lightly. "Nope. You're being punished, remember?"

"But you're suffering..."

"Oh, pet. You and I must have completely different ideas of what suffering means. I am in absolutely no pain, I assure you."

"My whole purpose in being here is to satisfy you..."

Greg laughed in his ear, low and wicked. "No, your purpose here is for _me_ to do as _I_ wish. And that's exactly what I'm gonna do." He released Mycroft and went to the single bedside table. "Now let's see - John used to keep some supplies in here..."

He opened the drawer to find it mostly empty, a single out-dated condom in its wrapper staring up at him forlornly. Greg shut the drawer in frustration, but heard something rattling about as he did so. He opened it again and put his hand in, fishing around at the back. _A-ha._  He pulled out a small bottle of lube, less than a quarter of the slippery substance remaining.

"Hm. I suppose some shopping is in order."

Mycroft turned his head slightly. "Gregory, if you would allow me..."

"Condoms and lube and anything else we may require, eh?" He slowly tapped the bottle against his palm, squeezing a bit out onto his fingers once the contents had shifted.

"Yes, of course."

Greg slipped behind Mycroft again, twining the fingers of his left hand into the short hair on the back of his head and pulling back just as he stroked Mycroft's cock with the slicked-up fingers of his right hand. "Wise to ask instead of to assume. You're learning quickly." He sank his teeth into his pet's exposed neck, earning a sharp cry. He ran his fingers down Mycroft's length and cupped his bollocks, fingers tickling at his perineum. "Mm, pulled up nice and tight already. Won't take long, will it?"

With that, Greg began stroking in earnest, laughing gently at Mycroft's strangled moan and his weak attempts to keep his body still. He released his grip on his soft red hair and slipped his arm around his chest, tweaking his nipples viciously with every upstroke. "C'mon, pet. You want to, I know you do. And I want you to." Greg watched in delight as Mycroft's skin flushed deep red and growled in his ear before biting down on the lobe briefly. "Fuck my fist. Come for me." He laughed again as Mycroft gave in to his body's desire to move, lifting himself up on his knees, his hips snapping into Greg's tightened fist.

"Gregory - I - I - oh _GOD!_ " Mycroft's muscles locked as he came, copious amounts of semen striping the bedding and oozing over his tormentor's hand. Greg gripped his hair again, pulling his head back so he could watch over his shoulder as he pumped his cock three more times, milking out more ejaculate and eliciting a high-pitched whine from Mycroft's throat.

"Beautiful." Greg placed his hands on Mycroft's upper arms and held him steady for a moment before gently manoeuvring him into lying down on the bed. He looked down at his poor besmirched victim with delight, taking in the thoroughly mussed hair, the deeply pink flush lingering on his strawberries-and-cream skin. His let his gaze travel downward, eyeing Mycroft's spent member lying heavy and glistening on his thigh. He trailed his fingers through the neatly trimmed pubic hair, capturing a few droplets of come and then bringing his fingers to his mouth. Mycroft moaned brokenly as his tongue flickered out and licked at his release delicately. "Oh, you are lovely indeed." Greg's eyes captured his. "Thank you for coming to me, pet."

Mycroft bit his lip and let out a trembling sigh. "I really must thank you for accepting my offer, Gregory." He glanced at the bulge in Greg's trousers and bit his lip uncertainly. "Please, may I take care of you now?"

Greg smiled wickedly and shook his head. "In my time, pet." He looked at his fingers, messy with lube and come. "I want you to undo my trousers and push them and my pants down. You will not touch my cock, is that understood?"

Mycroft's eyebrows drew together in frustration, but he nodded with a little sigh. He sat up and shifted on the mattress so that Greg was caged within his spread thighs, carefully popping the button and lowering the zip on Greg's trousers. He huffed out a steadying breath and slid them down his hips before slipping his fingers under the waistband of Greg's boxers and pulling them up and over and then down, taking extreme care to not let his hands go anywhere near that magnificent cock. Mycroft's eyes widened slightly and he heaved out a sigh as it bounced free, beautifully thick, darkly flushed with blood and need. Mycroft's mouth filled with saliva and he swallowed before glancing up at Greg's face. He leant back slightly to avoid temptation and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

Greg chuckled as he stepped out of his clothes and pushed them aside with his foot. "Are you drooling over my cock?"

"Of _course_ I am." Mycroft's voice was testy. "Just look at it, for God's sake."

Greg's eyebrows rose as he fingered his own cock, looking down as he tilted it from side to side slightly. "I suppose it's not too bad at that."

"Not too bad? Gregory, it's gorgeous." Mycroft's fingers twitched and he wiped his mouth again. "It looks delicious."

"You want a taste, then?"

Mycroft looked startled, then delighted. "Oh, may I?"

Greg tried not to laugh as he appeared to contemplate the request. "One taste. One suck. That's all you get. For now, anyway."

Mycroft settled a little closer to the edge of the bed, taking hold of Greg's hips with a gentle grip. He licked his lips as he looked up with a silent question in his grey eyes, asking permission, making sure it really was allowed. Greg smiled slowly as he gave him a small nod of encouragement and his pet suddenly grinned with utter joy, transforming his face into something truly beautiful to behold. Mycroft leant forward and licked his lips again as he let the head of Greg's cock slide past his lips, and then kept moving forward until he had engulfed the entire length, his nose buried firmly in Greg's pubic bone. Greg gasped aloud as Mycroft's tongue fluttered along the underside of his cock and he swallowed - motherfucking _swallowed_ \- around the head.

"Holy _fucking_ Mary Mother of God!" Greg's hands flew up to grasp at Mycroft's head, his broad fingers tangling in his soft hair.

Mycroft allowed himself the tiniest of smiles as he came up off Greg's cock, moving oh-so-slowly and sucking firmly the whole way. He licked his lips again let out a sigh of deep contentment. "Oh, Gregory. You are exquisite." Then he quieted as he closed his eyes, keeping his mouth pliant and lips parted slightly, mere millimetres from the head of Greg's cock.

Greg looked down at him, sitting so still, hot breath brushing lightly against his straining cock. He could tell that Mycroft's head and shoulders were completely relaxed under his grip. All he would have to do was push forward, and not only would Mycroft allow him, he would no doubt eagerly encourage him to fuck his mouth hard and fast until he came down that elegant throat. He was tempted, oh God, was he ever. It wouldn't take long, not with technique like that and the apparent lack of a gag reflex. But he also couldn't miss seeing that smarmy little smirk hovering over Mycroft's lips, and Greg knew that if he gave in, it would be a victory for his new pet - and that simply could not be allowed.

So instead of pushing forward into that willing wet heat, he bent down and took Mycroft's mouth with his own, kissing him deeply and thoroughly. They both shivered and Greg suddenly realised that this was their first kiss. Odd, that - for someone to have had their tongue on your cock before it had even touched your lips. New experiences all around, really. He pulled away from Mycroft and caught the look of frank admiration on his face. As much as Mycroft wanted to suck him to completion, he was obviously pleased that Greg hadn't caved in the face of temptation. Greg smiled, absurdly proud of himself.

"Lie down now. On your front." Mycroft quirked an eyebrow. "There's another of my favourite spots that I've yet to nibble on." Mycroft smiled with delight even as his body shuddered hard, and he quickly rolled over and put his face to the mattress, stretching his arms over his head and grabbing at the rails of the headboard. Greg moved to the foot of the bed and grasped a bony ankle in each hand, opening Mycroft's legs wide before running his hands up and over lean but muscular calves and thighs.

Mycroft moaned as Greg crawled up into the bed and knelt in between his spread thighs. He leant forward and placed his hands on either side of Mycroft's torso before running the tip of his tongue down the long line of his spine. Greg paused at the dip of his tailbone, swirling large circles with the flat of his tongue. Mycroft wriggled underneath him, moaning lustily. Greg blew a breath over the spittle-soaked flesh, watching with pleasure as gooseflesh rippled up his pet's back.

Then he turned his head and sank his teeth deeply into Mycroft's left arse-cheek, biting and gnawing at the firm flesh. He allowed himself free rein, sinking his teeth into arse and thigh with abandon, becoming almost unbearably aroused with every little twitch of Mycroft's body, every vocalisation that he made striking at the core of his prick. Greg sat back on his heels briefly to take in the view, his teethmarks spread liberally over willing flesh - God. His body shivered pleasantly, nearly coming from nothing more than the sight of Mycroft writhing and moaning underneath him.

"Flip over for me, pet." Greg took a moment to collect himself, closing his eyes, breathing in and out deeply, steadily.  
   
Mycroft scrambled to comply, grabbing the lube off the bedside table as he flipped, deftly squeezing it out on his fingers and reaching out for Greg's cock. He managed to get one full stroke in before Greg's eyes snapped open. He growled and shoved Mycroft down hard, pinning his wrists to the bed.

"I said no, Mycroft. _No_."

Mycroft struggled against him, using just enough of his strength to make it a bit of a fight. Greg snarled and used his full strength to pin him to the mattress, eventually winning out by the virtue of body mass alone.

Mycroft trembled underneath him, almost weeping with frustration. "Please, Gregory. _Please_ allow me."

 _"No."_ Greg bit down on his neck again, increasing the pressure of his jaws until Mycroft had settled down, his body quivering uncontrollably. Greg felt his pet's prick beginning to grow hard against his own aching cock and growled again as he shook his head. "You are mine now, and you will do as _I_ say. Do you understand?" He thrust up against Mycroft's groin and belly, his bollocks already tingling as they drew up against his body. _"Mine."_ He groaned as he thrust again, quite unable to stop himself. "Say it, pet. I need to hear you _say_ it."

Mycroft moaned as he wrapped his legs around Greg's waist and ground up against him. "Yours, Gregory. God, yes, I am _yours_."

Greg thrust again. "And?"

"I will do as you - oh _Christ -_ as y-you..."  
   
Greg tongued a nipple, thrusting again and again, moaning low in his throat. "You will what?" he murmured against hot flesh.  
    
There was another breathy curse as Mycroft forced himself to focus. "I will do as you say!" 

Greg bit down hard on the delicate flesh in his mouth, growling and snarling like some kind of beast.

Mycroft threw his head back and damn near yowled as he came a second time, flooding the space between their bellies with hot come. The sight of Mycroft coming to pieces underneath him, and the sudden slick sensation sent Greg over the edge and he followed after two more firm thrusts against his pet's trembling stomach.

"Oh _FUCK_. Fuck me, Jesus _fucking_ Christ." Greg collapsed onto Mycroft, his chest heaving as he panted out quick short breaths.

Mycroft squeezed at his waist with his knees, pressing his lips to Greg's head. "Breathe deep, Gregory. You're going to induce hyperventilating at that rate."  
   
Greg growled weakly, but obediently took in a long breath through his nose and then let it out slowly through his mouth. After a few moments, he felt Mycroft's arms flex and tense under his grip, and he released him. Rather than pulling away, Mycroft wrapped his arms around him and held him tightly until they both had their breathing under control. Then he quietly rolled Greg onto his side and slipped away from him, rising to his feet in one smooth motion.  
   
Greg watched through half-closed eyes as Mycroft went to the tiny bathroom, little more than a toilet and sink, quickly returning with a damp cloth in hand. He carefully wiped the sweat from Greg's face and chest before scrubbing away the sticky mass on his belly and then gently cleaned his cock and bollocks. Then he disappeared back into the bathroom for a bit, where Greg could hear the water running for a while. When Mycroft came back the second time, his skin was damp and slightly pink where he had evidently scrubbed himself clean. Greg continued to watch silently as Mycroft collected his shed clothing, shaking it out and folding it carefully, stacking it up on the desk next to his own clothes.  
   
Then he sat in the desk chair with his hands folded in his lap, apparently waiting to be dismissed. Greg quirked an eyebrow at him as he settled himself more comfortably, pulling both of the decidedly flat pillows under his head. "I don't recall saying that I was through with you."  
   
Mycroft blushed in mortification before standing smoothly and then kneeling on the bed again. "I am sorry, Gregory."  
   
Greg reached out and pulled him down into his arms. "No, pet. Here, with me. I want to hold you."  
   
_"Oh."_ Mycroft's voice was tiny, and his body tensed uncomfortably before he allowed himself to relax into Greg's embrace. "I'm not used to - that is..."  
   
"Poor pet." Greg chuckled. "I'm afraid this is something that you'll have to get used to. I am a cuddle _fiend_."  
   
Mycroft laughed softly as he carefully pillowed his head on Greg's chest. "But I'm not the one you should be... I mean - you have two rather remarkable men waiting for you downstairs."  
   
"They aren't waiting on me. They're doing whatever it is that they want to do, and perhaps when I do go to bed they will be there, but I'm not expecting them to be. Especially Sherlock. God only knows what he gets up to at all hours." He squeezed Mycroft gently. "Can never have enough cuddles, from someone who is willing to share." He ran his fingers through Mycroft's soft red hair. "There may be some days that this is all I will want. Or need. Will that be a problem for you?"  
   
Mycroft snuggled closer. "Not at all. Like I said, I'm just not used to it."  
   
Greg sighed softly. "You feel wonderful." Mycroft smiled and shifted, throwing his right leg over Greg's. _"Perfect."_ They lay there silently for a few moments, until Greg shivered slightly. "Gets chilly in here. We'll have to bring in a blanket."  
   
"Gregory - "  
   
"Yes, pet. You have a list already, don't you? Let's hear it."  
   
Mycroft tapped his fingers on Greg's sternum as he counted out the items on his mental list. "Removing all cameras downstairs. Securing the camera in here. Bringing in new supplies - condoms, lube, linens." He blushed adorably as his eyes darted up to Greg's face. "And if you would allow - there are certain, um - props - and well, reference materials that I believe we could both benefit from."  
   
Greg chuckled with a little roll of his eyes. "Yes, bring it all along. Has anything else occurred to you?"  
   
"Well, the toilet could certainly use a scrub, and perhaps better lighting?"  
   
"Both excellent suggestions, pet."  
   
Mycroft let his fingers trail along Greg's chest and down. "And - well - I couldn't help noticing that we're both a bit vocal, so maybe...soundproofing?"  
   
Greg blinked and then laughed, nearly shaking Mycroft off of him. "That is honestly not something that would have even occurred to me."  
   
Mycroft fidgeted uneasily, his voice gone quite pensive. "I was just thinking that perhaps the less disruption to your partners, the better. Especially Sherlock. I can't even imagine what must be going through his head right now."  
   
"Oh, of course you can. You have very nearly the same mind, after all." He played with Mycroft's hair a bit more. "I think it's a grand idea, pet. And it will no doubt keep Mrs. Hudson from being frightened out of her wits."  
   
"Oh, as if she hasn't heard some rather rude noises before now."  
   
Greg snorted before gently pulling Mycroft's face to his and kissing him earnestly. "You are free to make any modifications in here as you see fit." He nodded toward the unkempt pile of boxes on the far side of the room. "Just so long as that does not include tossing any of my rather meagre belongings."  
   
"Gregory, I would never - "  
   
"Yes, I know." Greg sat up, pulling Mycroft along with him. "Now. I was prepared to let your punishment for your assumptions stand, but then you had to go and disobey me."  
   
Mycroft paled slightly. "I just couldn't stand it anymore! You were _so_ hard, and it was aching - I could tell - and I just wanted..."  
   
"Shh, pet. Hush now. Not only did you disobey, you fought me. You actually fought me!" Greg chuckled darkly as he squeezed him firmly. "So this is what is going to happen. Before tomorrow night, you will come for me three more times. Understood?"  
   
Mycroft's eyes widened, but he nodded. "Yes, Gregory."  
   
"Tonight, on the way home in the back of that lovely big black car, you're gonna pull one out for me. I want photographic proof texted to my mobile."  
   
"Gregory, I'm not sure I'm physically capable."  
   
"Oh, silly pet - of course you are." Greg pulled him in close, running his fingers lightly over his arms and chest. "Just imagine that I've tied you up - arms bound to your torso, hands behind your back. I've got you bent over and I'm fucking the living daylights out of you." Mycroft whimpered and his cock twitched. Greg ran his fingers over it and grinned as it jumped again under his fingers. "See? That's just lovely. I'm sure you can imagine all sorts of scenarios and get it to wake up properly. So - tonight, in the car." Mycroft nodded dismally. "Tomorrow morning. In the shower, or in bed, wherever you usually wank. Again, I will want photographic evidence. And then tomorrow afternoon, I will prompt you with a text of my own. You must respond within a half-hour with your proof. Make sure nobody is about when you open my text, and if you get it while in a meeting plotting world domination or some other nonsense, alert me immediately. I will revise my timetable. I have no desire to make things awkward for you at work."

"I appreciate that, Gregory."

"Of course you do. Now, I think it's time you get dressed and head out to do your homework." Greg gave Mycroft another squeeze before heaving himself out of bed. "Toss me my pants, pet."

Mycroft did so, and Greg slipped them on and stood watching as Mycroft redressed, fastidiously replacing layer on top of layer, wrapping his armour around him securely. Once the knot in his tie had been tightened, and the suit jacket settled to his liking, Mycroft cocked his head ever so slightly and the cool façade was once more in place.

"Thank you for a rather enlightening experience, Gregory. I'm looking forward to more."

Greg laughed quietly at his formal tone as he moved to clasp Mycroft close. He reached up and tousled the perfect hair into disarray before pulling him down into a deep kiss. "Oh, I know you are, pet." Mycroft's face was deeply pink as he tried in vain to straighten his hair.

Greg grabbed his clothes and headed down the stairs, pausing at the door to the sitting room to reach inside the pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out his mobile, turned and waved it at Mycroft as he reached the bottom step. Mycroft nodded his understanding before moving quietly down the second set of stairs, retrieving his umbrella from the stand by the door and then slipping out of the flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little family time...

Greg followed Mycroft down the stairs, ensuring that the flat was locked up tight behind him as he slipped out the door. He glanced down the hallway, noting the light from 221C streaming out onto the floor, indicating that the younger Holmes was still locked away in his lab. Greg stood there for a long moment, debating in his head silently. Then he looked down at himself, clad in nothing but his pants, smelling of sex and Mycroft's cologne.

Yeah, best not. Greg turned and headed up the stairs, making a beeline for the bathroom instead. He started the water running in the shower and then tipped his clothes into the hamper, placing his mobile on the counter by the sink. He slipped his pants off and then stepped under the spray, sighing with relief as the warm water washed over him.

Greg found his mind wandering as he soaped himself up and scrubbed diligently. Christ, was this really his life? A little over a year ago, he had been alone, with no meaning to his life other than the Met. Well, that - _and_ making sure that Sherlock didn't get himself killed by haring off after criminals on his own, or by battling his own personal demons.

And then had come John, and Greg's world had been turned neatly on its head. Suddenly, there was light, and love. Sherlock had quickly followed after, not only accepting his affections, but eagerly returning them, filling a void that even Greg had been unaware of. And now, here was Mycroft elbowing his way into his life as well, offering himself without any reservations or unreasonable expectations. With hopes, certainly - and Greg was determined to make sure that his new pet didn't regret his offer.

He washed his hair, rinsed thoroughly and then turned off the shower before stepping out on the mat and taking up a clean towel. He dried off in front of the sink, wrapped the towel around his waist and was cleaning his teeth when the text alert on his phone sounded. He shook himself and grinned wolfishly at his reflection in the mirror before opening the message.

Mycroft had framed the photo very artistically. His spent cock was neatly centred on a navy blue silk handkerchief, the vibrant red of his pubic hair a pleasing contrast to the dark fabric, a meagre pool of semen spattered at the head. Greg smiled to himself, watching the reflected image of his face as the blood filled his cheeks. It was more than he had expected to see, after having already milked the man for all he was worth.

Greg studied the photo intently before texting back. _'T_ _hat is lovely, pet.'_

Mycroft's return text was nearly instantaneous. _'Thank you, Gregory. I had hoped you would be pleased.'_

_'Oh yes. I'm very much looking forward to tomorrow...'_

_'I as well. Have a good night, Gregory.'_

_'Sleep well, pet.'_

Greg hung his damp towel up and sauntered his bare bum into the bedroom where John was sitting up in bed, catching up on some medical journals. Greg was slightly disappointed to see that he had pants and a vest on, but gratefully slipped into the bed next to him anyway.

John hummed happily as Greg snuggled close and threw his arm around his waist. They lay there in silence, John reading and Greg drifting peacefully. He was nearly all the way under when there was a sudden and almighty thump from the direction of the sitting room, and both men jumped with a curse. Greg groaned and climbed wearily out of the bed with John following close behind.

Sherlock had pulled his armchair close to the fireplace and was balancing precariously on the back, wearing his slouchiest pyjamas underneath his blue silken dressing gown. He was running his fingers over the top of the mirror, along the sides, anywhere he could easily reach and some places that he couldn't, going up on his toes as he stretched, dangerously close to simply toppling arse over teakettle onto the floor.

Greg and John both called out his name with the exact same sharp tone of command and Sherlock twitched jumpily before looking over at them. His eyes widened when he saw Greg's state of undress and he fairly leapt over John's armchair, quickly sheltering his lover's body with his own, spreading the dressing gown out to cover them both.

"Cameras, Greg!" he hissed. "Have you forgotten already?"

Greg laughed, his eyes dancing with delight. "Protecting my virtue, Sherlock? That's very sweet, but I had Mycroft turn them off earlier in the evening. Besides, he's already seen it." Sherlock scowled ferociously as Greg reached out to capture his hands and tugged at him gently. "Come to bed."

Sherlock hesitated. "I have an experiment that I need to attend to."

"Can it wait twenty minutes? There are things we need to discuss." Greg squeezed his hands. "Please?" Sherlock nodded reluctantly and allowed Greg to pull him down the hallway and back toward the bedroom. Greg laid down on his back in the middle of the bed and spread his arms in a clear invitation for both of his lovers to join him. John slipped in on his left, settling down with his head on Greg's chest as Sherlock laid down on his right, pillowing his head on his shoulder.

Greg inhaled deeply and let out his breath with a gusty sigh. " _God_ , yes. I needed this. Thank you both." He caressed them as their arms tightened around him. "So. Tomorrow, there will be men here to remove the cameras. Sherlock, please do not interfere. There will also be some, um - modifications being made in John's old room."

Sherlock pushed himself up on his elbow and glowered down at Greg. "What modifications?"

His voice was both quiet and deadly, and Greg blinked up at him. "Um. Well - soundproofing, mostly."

Sherlock glowered some more and then relaxed slightly. "Hm. Not a bad idea. Mycroft's, I take it." He settled his head back on Greg's shoulder with a little irritated huff of breath.

"Yes, actually. He wanted to ensure that you both were not, well, disturbed by our activities."

John giggled as he trailed his fingers over his lover's ribs. "Thoughtful. You do tend to get a bit shouty."

Greg kissed the top of his head. "Shut it, you." He squeezed them both again. "Any questions? I will not be divulging details - not that I really think you want to hear them - but if there are concerns, I will do my best to address them."

John ran his fingers up and over Greg's chest. "I trust you, sweetheart. I can't think of anything to ask, honestly. It's all a bit new." John lifted his face to Greg's and gave him a quick kiss.

"Thank you, love." Greg turned his head and kissed Sherlock's forehead. "What about you, baby?"

Sherlock hummed idly. "I imagine that you've already come up with some kind of ridiculous endearment for him?"

"Uh, well..." Greg was surprised to feel himself blushing. "I found myself calling him 'pet', actually."

John smirked against his chest and Sherlock broke out in a laugh. "That's terribly fitting."

"You're not to taunt him, Sherlock. He's heard me calling you 'baby', and he's never mocked you for it. So I won't have you using this against him in any way."

"No, of course not. I will still mock his disastrous attempts at dieting, though."

John snorted as Greg pinched Sherlock's arm. "Mycroft is not fat. Not at all."

Sherlock scowled and rubbed his arm. "He would be, if I didn't motivate him properly."

"Ye gods. You are such a prick sometimes. Why do I love you so much?"

"Because you're mentally defective?" John snorted again and burrowed deeper into Greg's chest.

Greg smiled. "Perhaps I am." His eyes slipped closed as he felt John's head growing heavier on his chest. Sherlock remained tense at his right side.

When he spoke, his voice was so quiet that Greg almost missed it. "And when you fall in love with him? What will happen to us then?"

Greg turned his head, studying Sherlock's sombre face. "What makes you think that will happen?"

Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes as he let one finger trace over his lover's cheek. "You are an incurable romantic, Greg. You have a ridiculously large heart, and have far too much love to give. And Mycroft is rather lovable, in his own insufferable yet roly-poly kind of way."

"Ha! I knew you cared about him, for all of your posturing."

"Of course I do. He is my brother, after all. Not that you are to reveal any of this to him. Ever."

"Oh, baby - I wouldn't betray your trust."

"I know." Sherlock cleared his throat uneasily. "I am only going to say this once. I approve. You will be good for each other. He's been floundering since his last relationship dissolved. His mind works more efficiently when he's under somebody's control. Seems counterintuitive to me, but if it works for him, who am I to object? Your mind, too, works better when your body is satiated."

Greg quirked an eyebrow. "I should have known that you would break it down to brainpower one way or another. As for falling in love, we'll deal with that if it happens."

Sherlock smirked and kissed Greg's cheek. " _When_ it happens."

"Mm." Greg felt himself slipping into slumber and roused himself slightly. "Oh, before I forget. Anything in the brolly?"

Sherlock shook his curls. "No, it's just a perfectly ordinary umbrella."

Greg yawned hugely. "Well, damn."

Sherlock pulled the duvet up over Greg and John, propping himself up on his elbow and looking down at them fondly. In fact, there had been a small listening device tucked away in the handle of his brother's substitute security blanket - the receiver, anyway. The microphone had been somewhere on Mycroft's person, probably in his tie pin. Sherlock had only listened in on the beginning of their interaction before all of Mycroft's belongings had been tucked away securely and he thought that perhaps his brother had forgotten the device was even there. So he had decided not to tell Greg. Wouldn't want to get his brother in trouble, would he? Sherlock smiled slowly. Not yet, anyway.

He waited until both of his lovers were deeply asleep before carefully sliding out from under Greg's arm and slipping out of the bed. He flipped off the light before closing the bedroom door, heading down the stairs and back into his lab. Maybe he would hijack Mycroft's men tomorrow and have them install soundproofing down here as well. Then John would never have to know about any potential explosions, as long as he kept them small and somewhat contained...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's punishment continues...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short-ish chapter, but I have more coming...

Greg groaned in despair as a tinny alarm invaded his slumber. Doing his damnedest to ignore it, he curled up on his side and pulled the duvet up over his head. He had nearly succeeded in drowning it out completely when he heard the muffled sound of a mug hitting the bedside table. John chuckled at him as Greg poked his rumpled head out, blinking resentfully against the early morning light.  
   
John silenced the alarm and held out Greg's mug. "All right there?"  
   
"Meh." John laughed again and sat down next to him, letting Greg lean up against him as he took his first sip of tea. He sighed deeply as he rubbed his silver head against John's upper arm. "Bless. You're an angel."  
   
John hummed as he tapped his chin in thought. "Would that make Sherlock a demon?"  
   
Greg nearly choked on his tea. "If so, then I must be the hapless human soul that you two are competing for." He quirked an eyebrow and turned it on his lover with a cheeky grin. "It fits, doesn't it?"  
   
John smiled faintly. "If I'm your angel and Sherlock is your demon, what does that make Mycroft?"  
   
"My faithful lapdog." Greg's grin widened, and John couldn't help but grin back. "Are you really okay with this, love?"  
   
"Strangely enough, I am. For some reason, I wasn't entirely surprised by his proposal."  
   
"Wanna watch sometime?"  
   
John blinked uncertainly into his nearly empty mug. "Erm..."  
   
"We're setting up a camera in the room, so you wouldn't have to actually be there." Greg left out the fact that the camera had probably been installed in the attic room as soon as he had moved in to Baker Street, although John had obviously suspected that it was there. He had even put on little peepshows for the unknown entities stuck behind the camera's lens, the dirty little beast. Greg cleared his throat, pitching his voice low. "I know how you like to watch, love."  
   
John's cheeks went vaguely pink. "I do - yes - but..." His lips twisted, with intrigue or discomfort, Greg couldn't quite tell.  

"It's Mycroft."  
   
"Yeah. I mean, I just can't even - "  
   
Greg grinned again. "He's a completely different creature once he's stripped down, love. You might not even recognise him."  
   
John looked at him and smiled. "I'll consider it, my love. For now, however, you should get your arse out of bed and to the Yard."  
   
"Ah, fuck." Greg promptly slid down in the bed, trying in vain to gather the covers over his head again. John shook his head and stood, reaching out for Greg's mobile on the bedside table.  
   
"You've a text, Greg. From your new pet."  
   
 _"Ooh!"_ Greg sat bolt upright, the faux-fatigue vanishing from his face instantly. "Gimme."  
   
John rolled his eyes and passed over the phone, watching with interest as Greg's face flushed and the sheet draped over his lap tented quite visibly. "You want a hand with that?"  
   
Greg started and nearly dropped his phone. "No, no... It's quite all right, love. You've got a shift at the clinic today, yeah? Don't want you to be late. You're right anyhow, I should get dressed and be on my way..."  
   
John chortled and bent down to give Greg a quick kiss. "Right you are." Greg waved at him absentmindedly, all of his attention focused on the small device in his palm.  
   
Greg flipped through the three photos again, the first being a shot of Mycroft's cock sticking out of his black silk boxers, stiff and proud. The second was a shot of the mess on his hand and on said boxers, having obviously been used to aid in clean-up. The third was a bonus shot of Mycroft's bare backside, liberally peppered with the remainders of Greg's lovebites, showing lovely and dark against his strawberries-and-cream skin. That was the photo that had made his prick stiffen almost immediately, bringing him back to that moment when he first set his teeth into that long, willing body beneath him.  
   
 _'They're all lovely, pet, but I'm sure you know which is my favourite.'_  
   
 _'Indeed. You marked me quite thoroughly, Gregory.'_  
   
Greg slid down in bed again and lightly fingered his hard cock, angling it this way and that as he snapped a few photos of his own. He couldn't help but to stroke it once, twice, his mind flashing to that wonderful image. In fact, he could just pull it up now and - no. Greg released himself and breathed deeply before smiling slowly. No. He would save it for Mycroft, who would most certainly deserve a treat by the end of the day. If he was good, of course...

He wiped himself down before getting dressed, running the water as cold as possible. After splashing his face he doused a flannel in the frigid water and slapped it over his bits. Greg bit his lower lip and did a little dance to prevent his shout from being heard all the way down to Sherlock's lab.  
   
He hadn't been at the Yard for a full ten minutes before getting a text from Sherlock.

_'Any murders? Make me happy, Greg.'_

_'I just got here! And no, so far it's just following up on witness statements from last week's double.'_

_'Ugh. Boring!'_

_'Sorry, baby. You know I'll call you in if something comes up.'_

_'Fine.'_ A few minutes passed, and then his phone buzzed again. _'Thank you, Greg.'_

Greg raised his eyebrows at his phone and smiled faintly.

Donovan was waiting in Greg's office with a stack of file folders under one arm, a box of doughnuts under the other. He sighed melodramatically as she tossed both down on his desk with a flourish.

"Right. Let's get this shit sorted, then."

They worked through until lunch, connecting the dots and building up a solid case for the Crown. Greg looked over his final notes, nodding to himself. He passed them over to Donovan.

"Break for lunch. When you get back, go ahead and type up what we've got so far."

"Ya got it, boss."

He gave her a swift grin as she left, and hastily pulled out his mobile. After a swift glance to make sure nobody was paying him the least bit of attention, he chose the more flattering of his photos from that morning and composed a text to Mycroft.

_'This is what your photo did to me, pet. I saved it for you. Think of what you want to do to it. Think about my cock and pull one out for me. Send me proof.'_

The reply came almost immediately. _'Good heavens. I'm in a meeting, may I have more time?'_

_'You have until 2, pet. Make it worth the wait.'_

_'Oh, undoubtedly.'_

At 1:42, Greg's mobile buzzed in his pocket. He was alone in his office, so pulled it out and quickly brought up Mycroft's newest photo. Greg studied it, head cocked to the side, feeling the heat rush from his chest to his belly and lower. Mycroft had obviously just pulled it out and jerked it right there at his desk, as his flaccid but heavy member was simply hanging out of his unzipped trousers. He had captured his release in another hanky, blood-red this time.

_'Gorgeous. You have an eye for this sort of thing, pet.'_

_'Thank you, Gregory. I am very much looking forward to this evening.'_

_'When will you be able to get away?'_

_'Most likely, no earlier than eight. I am sorry, Gregory.'_

_'No, no worries. Anticipation and all that.'_

Mycroft texted back with a little smiley face, which made Greg break out into laughter. He had certainly never figured the British Government to be the type to employ emoticons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg surveys the newly redecorated attic room, and John is surprisingly knowledgeable...

For once, Greg found himself at home before John, but there was no sign of Sherlock, of course. Probably tucked away in his lab, but Greg couldn't bring himself to knock at the door of 221C to find out. The big git always turned into such an enormous child when his experiments were interrupted. So he went up the stairs to the attic room instead, leaving his shoes and jacket behind in the sitting room.  
   
Greg opened the door cautiously, not entirely sure of what to expect, but he was rather pleasantly surprised at what he saw. If it weren't for the large bed in the middle of the room, it might pass for a personal theatre. There was new carpeting on the floor, thick and plush to help with the soundproofing. It was grey to match the baffling that had been installed on the walls and even up high on the pitched ceiling. Greg closed the door behind him and let loose with a little shout, nodding in approval as the considerably muffled sound bounced back at him. There were sconces on the walls, and a new variable switch by the door. He flipped it on and cycled the light up and down a few times, pleased to see that the lighting was more than sufficient, but not at all harsh.   
   
Next he investigated the wardrobe, noting new hangers lined up on the rod before opening the bottom drawer and rummaging through the pile of fresh bed linens, including a plush deep-red blanket. There was a new laptop set up on one of the small shelves, alongside an external hard drive. Greg flipped the lid up, and a surprisingly clear picture of the room instantly popped up on the screen. He squinted at the corner of the wardrobe until he spotted the camera, waving his hand in front of it. The picture on the laptop screen jumped, and Greg nodded, satisfied.   
   
There was a small trunk at the foot of the bed, and Greg eyed it uncertainly as he passed, heading into the small toilet. It had been scrubbed until it practically shone, and there was a new cabinet along the wall, opposite the toilet. It stood about five feet tall and was stuffed to the brim with flannels, condoms and lube. Greg shook his head with a hearty chuckle.  _'I guess if there's some kind of siege, we'll be all set.'_  
   
He went back to the foot of the bed and opened the small black trunk with a little sigh of trepidation. He tilted his head as he noticed that the items seemed to have just been tossed in, as there was no apparent order to anything. That surprised Greg a little - Mycroft was usually so meticulous. But then he grinned. He must have been in a hurry, that's all. He shuffled through a couple of bundles of rope, blindfolds and cuffs, spotting some more interesting toys at the bottom. His hand brushed against something soft and he grasped at it, pulling it out from underneath a heavy book on Japanese bondage. It was a medium-sized box, covered in black velvet. He opened it and stared. _'What on earth?'_  
   
Greg pulled out the odd device and rolled it in his fingers just as John popped his head into the room. He looked around with interest.  
   
"Hm. It's rather nice, isn't it?"  
   
Greg tossed his head. "You have to see the toilet."  
   
John smirked and passed by Greg on the way, pausing to give him a swift kiss. Greg heard drawers opening and a sharp shout of laughter. "Well, you're certainly going to be prepared. Til the end of time, looks like." He came back out and sat at the foot of the bed, peering into the trunk before getting distracted by what was in Greg's hand. "Oh. A cock-cage. That's interesting."  
   
"A what?"  
   
"Cock-cage, my darling. A chastity device." Greg quirked one eyebrow as John smiled at him brightly. "Keeps him from coming, because he can't get hard." He held out his hand, and Greg placed the device in his palm. John ran his fingers over it. "See, here, this lock - undo that, and you can slide the ring free. Then you stuff his cock into the tube, and slide the ring under his bollocks. Lock it back up, and you've got yourself a caged pet."  
   
"I know you like your toys, John, but you seem rather, um, knowledgeable about this."  
   
He pursed his lips, his cheeks going slightly pink. "Thought about it once, but the generic models have all kinds of problems with pinching or being able to trick the lock. Only real way to do it is custom, and that's not something I could afford at the time. Mycroft, however... Bet this fits him like a glove."  
   
"A cock glove." They both giggled as Greg eyed John speculatively. "So you thought about getting one of these?"  
   
John nodded, his fingers still caressing the cage idly. "Quite a few years ago, yes. Just for fun. Had a girlfriend who was into the scene." He handed the device back to Greg. "I think, though, that for Mycroft, it may mean a bit more. For him, it most likely means a commitment, love. A strong one. Think about that before you accept his key, all right?"  
   
Greg blinked at him. "I've never had an issue with commitment, John. You know that. I'm just afraid I won't be able to give him what he needs."

John blinked back, a slight look of incredulity crossing his face. "Love, he's a _Holmes_. He probably knows you better than you know yourself. He wouldn't have come to you if he thought you'd be inadequate in any way." John picked up the large book on Kinbaku and started flipping the pages, shaking his head slightly. "Stuff like this - it's mostly for show. Very pretty, but not exactly practical." He tossed the book aside and started rooting around in the trunk, drawing out a slim volume. "Start with this - pretty basic ties, but it will give you what you need to build on."

Greg stared as he took the book, glancing down to flip through technical diagrams of various knots. "You were pretty into this girl, weren't you?"

John laughed. "We were together a bit over a year. It didn't end all that well, and once it was over, I came to the conclusion that I was more into the girl than the scene. But I guess there are some things you just don't forget, and I can't say that I haven't put some of that knowledge to pretty good use from time to time."

Greg's lips quirked. "Yeah, I remember." The quirk turned into a full grin as John cleared his throat a little uneasily. "Mm. Guess what I'm thinking..."

"That next time Sherlock's in the mood we should truss him up like a Christmas goose and have at him?"

"Oh _God_ , yes."

John grinned wickedly. "Right there with ya, love." He stood with a little stretch and nodded down at the trunk. "Looks like you still have some stuff to look over, and I'm simply dying for some tea. Want me to bring you one?"

"No thanks, love. Before you go, though - how safe are these things?" Greg twiddled the cock-cage in his fingers. "For long-term use, that is."

"Perfectly safe. I mean, I wouldn't keep him in it without release for too long - no more than three or four months at a time. And you can let him out to - ah, well - stretch every once and again. Just because he gets hard doesn't mean he gets off." John smiled sharply. "And it's a nice open design, so there shouldn't be any issues with cleanliness. Make sure he's clean and dry before you put it on him."

Greg gathered John into his arms, holding him close before leaning down and kissing him on the neck. "Thank you, love. I may call upon your expertise again."

John smiled and caught Greg's earlobe in his teeth, giving it a good sharp tug before leaving the room. Greg shivered as he placed the cock-cage back in its box and put it on the bedside table. Everything else he packed away before turning his attention to the small stack of boxes in the corner.

The remainders of his previous lives - ten years married and then seven years mostly alone. Greg opened the box on top and the first thing he came across was his silly ceramic frog. So Sherlock hadn't smashed it after all. John had probably managed to rescue it and hide it away for him. Must remember to thank him for that.

Greg grinned to himself and stroked the frog's back. "Stupid little thing..." He placed it on a corner of the desk and stepped back, nodding as it glared up at him as usual. "Perfect." He returned to the boxes and pulled out the next item, which happened to be the wedding album. How in the hell had he wound up with this? Perhaps he'd ask Nora if she wanted it, but he was fairly certain that she had taken everything she did want - she had been rather thorough in cleaning out the house they had shared for nearly a decade. Besides that, they hadn't spoken in over a year. With no children, and no real mutual friends, they'd had no solid connection remaining, and they had just drifted apart after the divorce.

No. He'd just get rid of it. Greg opened it to a random page and stared down at an earlier version of himself, nearly two decades younger, hair mostly dark as opposed to the bright silver it was now. He sighed. Nope. Still not ready. Greg tucked away the album and closed the box firmly, turning away from the rest of his assorted crap. He could probably toss everything in these damn boxes and not miss any of it anyway...  
   
He settled on the bed with a soft sigh and then laughed. It was definitely a new mattress, and he spread himself out a bit, realising that his hands and feet couldn't quite reach the edges. Much larger than the previous, of course.  When Mycroft redecorated, he certainly didn't hold back, did he? Greg harboured a swift fantasy of three bodies tangled up in this huge bed, or maybe even more? Greg shivered pleasantly before sinking his head down onto the nice firm pillows, forcing his thoughts to the here and now, and not on what may happen if he managed to lure both Sherlock and John up here with him.

Greg closed his eyes and found himself wondering if he could convince Mrs. Hudson to allow Mycroft or his team in to replace some of that dreadful wallpaper downstairs. He was beginning to genially drift away when his ears picked up on the soft click of the door closing. He opened his eyes slowly and pushed himself up on his elbows, grinning to himself as Mycroft paused, his attention clearly focused on the new atrocity sitting on the desk. Greg watched several expressions drift across Mycroft's face before it settled on one of calm resignation. He glanced aside to Greg but didn't speak a word, working the buttons on his waistcoat loose instead.

Greg sat up a bit further, crossing his legs to watch with delight as Mycroft's creamy skin was revealed bit by bit. After all of his clothing was removed and hung properly, Mycroft moved to kneel on the bed, but Greg snapped his fingers to get his attention.  
   
"Come here, pet. I want to see." Mycroft smiled faintly and stood next to the bed, turning around slowly. Greg reached out to caress his backside, fingering the brightest of the bruises lightly. He sighed. "Lovely." Mycroft glanced over his shoulder, his grey eyes bright and happy. "All right, as you were."  
   
Mycroft knelt at the foot of the bed, hands on thighs, eyes downcast. "I hope everything is satisfactory, Gregory."

"Oh, yes, pet. More than. You've done very well." He held up the black velvet box. "Am I correct in assuming that this is your favourite?"

Cool grey eyes flickered up and then down again, a warm blush tingeing his creamy skin. "Yes, Gregory."

"So this is what kept you from coming for ten weeks." Mycroft nodded quietly, and Greg shook his head slightly. "Explain it to me."

Mycroft looked up, meeting Greg's eyes. "I'm not sure I can, Gregory. I like giving pleasure, but not necessarily taking any for myself. I like being used for another's purposes. I have not analysed any deep-seated emotions or the motivation behind it. I think that sometimes... Sometimes it is better to simply enjoy rather than analyse." He smiled gently. "And then there is the challenge, of course."

"Oh, obviously. You Holmes boys do like to stretch your bodies to their limits. So what happened to make you break your streak?"

Another vibrant blush bloomed over his high cheekbones. "My previous partner is in a similar line of work in the Swedish government. As you can well imagine, we didn't often have a great deal of time together. He locked me up during one visit..."

Greg grinned. "And then the next visit was ten weeks later?"

Mycroft chuckled quietly. "Precisely."

"Didn't take long, I imagine."

"Well, no. Especially since he was very fond of texting certain thoughts, and well - images. Highly distracting."

Greg tilted his head, reading a certain amount of tension in the set of Mycroft's shoulders when he spoke of his ex. He felt a bit of unease swirling in his belly and found himself hoping that his hunch was the wrong one. "That's not why you split, though. Something happened, din't it?"

Mycroft looked up again, his lips pursed and eyes tight. "Yes. I hope you'll forgive me, Gregory, but that isn't something I'm prepared to discuss at this time."

Well, damn. He had already proved his old copper's instincts correct right there, hadn't he? "Later, yeah?"

"Yes, I believe so." Mycroft paused, licking his lips unconsciously. "I find that I'm remarkably comfortable around you. I feel that I could tell you almost anything."

Greg pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. "For a Holmes, that's a pretty damning confession right there."

Mycroft shrugged slightly. "Yes."

Greg took in a deep breath, studying Mycroft's face carefully. He could sense nothing of a duplicitous nature in his casual admission, but the man was a born politician, after all. He looked back down at the box cradled in his hands, trying to think how to bring the evening back around to a lighter mood. "After so long, I can only imagine that it was rather overwhelming?"

"Yes, you could say that. I lost consciousness."

Greg blinked. "You what?"

"I passed out. Only for a few seconds, but yes - it was that intense."

"Holy... I think I'd like to see that."

Mycroft smiled slowly. "The key is in the box, Gregory. You're free to use it at any time."

Greg looked him up and down. "Not now I couldn't. You're at half-mast already."

Mycroft blushed. "I must admit, I find it difficult to control certain reactions when I am around you. I'm not used to that."

"Eh. That's just because we're new. You'll get bored with me soon enough."

Mycroft shook his head emphatically. "No, Gregory. I refuse to believe that you could ever be boring."

Greg laughed. "Your confidence in me is very reassuring. Especially since I'm rather new to all - this." He indicated the black box before opening it and pulling out the device.

Mycroft eyed it hopefully. "But that's why you're so perfect." He smiled impishly and Greg's breath caught in his throat. "I can train you just the way I like."

Greg's booming laughter was quickly swallowed up by the new soundproofing. "Oh, you _delicious_ little scoundrel..." He rolled the intricate steel cage around in his fingers before holding it up and squinting at it.

"This was custom-made?"

"Of course. That's the only way to ensure the absolute comfort and safety of the wearer."  
   
"How do you even measure for something like this?" Mycroft blushed again.

Greg shook his head and pulled out the key, a tiny little thing on a fine silver chain. He held it in his hand, letting the chain slip through his fingers, watching as the key dangled and twisted through the air. He took the key in hand and unlocked the tiny gold padlock, slipping it off the device and carefully replacing it in the black velvet box. Mycroft watched with parted lips and pink cheeks as Greg slid the ring free and investigated the cage thoroughly, feeling for rough edges or other potential irritants.

Greg sighed. "I'm not entirely sure I'm comfortable with the idea of locking you up indefinitely." Mycroft opened his mouth to protest, but Greg forestalled him. "Yes, I know. You were locked up for ten weeks with no obvious ill effects. But still. I am the one who will be responsible for your safety, so we're going to do this my way."

"Your way is the only way, Gregory."

Greg felt a swift rush of blood southward. "Oh, pet. The things you say..." Mycroft blushed again. "I think I'm going to emulate your brother. Let's do an experiment. I'll lock you up for a set amount of time, say - a week, and observe your reactions. After that week, you get unlocked and you get off. And then we'll try two weeks, and so on. When I'm comfortable, we'll try to set a new record for you. How does that sound?"

Mycroft's previously half-hard cock was now fully erect and his breathing had quickened. "That sounds - delightful, Gregory. Thank you."

"Mm." Greg replaced the device in the box and set it aside before standing, holding the key on its chain wound around his fingers and dangling from his hand as he faced Mycroft. "Come here, pet. Undress me."

Mycroft smiled delightedly and stood smoothly, reaching out with fingers that trembled ever-so-slightly to unbutton Greg's shirt. He carefully hung it up before working on his belt and unzipping his trousers. He knelt as he pulled down Greg's trousers, slipping off his socks as well. He stood to fold and hang said trousers and then knelt again, looking up at Greg with a question in his eyes. He nodded silently, and Mycroft pulled down his pants, letting them simply drop from his fingers as soon as Greg stepped out of them.

Greg laughed quietly and watched as Mycroft trailed his fingers down his belly, following the fine line of dark hair to his groin and then further down. Greg swallowed as he watched Mycroft's pink tongue dart out to lick his lips in anticipation. He started to lean in closer, but Greg captured his hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

"No, pet. Not yet." Greg pulled Mycroft to his feet and drew him in close, wrapping his arms around his waist securely. The red-haired man looked utterly bewildered until Greg laid a tender kiss on his collarbone, moving up to his neck. Mycroft's arms slid around Greg slowly, hesitantly returning the embrace. Greg kissed along his jawline, briefly going up on tip-toe to kiss the tip of his nose, earning a sharp huff of laughter before he closed his mouth over Mycroft's.

Mycroft moaned low in his throat and his arms tightened around Greg, one hand tentatively moving up to caress his silver hair. Greg broke off the kiss with a soft smile. "That's it, pet. Don't be afraid to touch me." He ran his fingers lightly up and down Mycroft's spine, grinning as his body shivered and his eyes fluttered closed. "Touch is important, don't you think?" He hummed as Mycroft's hands started to move, simple fleeting caresses over back and sides.

Greg moved his mouth back to Mycroft's neck, where the mark made the previous night had bloomed beautifully. He tongued it gently before opening his mouth wide and applying light pressure with his teeth. Mycroft's hands flew to Greg's arse and he pulled him in close as he breathed in with a sharp hiss. Greg clutched back at his arse in return, earning a breathy cry as his fingers found and dug into the additional bruises on Mycroft's backside. 

"Sorry, pet."

"No, Gregory - it feels wonderful." He rolled his hips against Greg's hardness. " _You_ feel wonderful."

Greg pulled him down onto the bed. "So do you, pet." He resumed kissing Mycroft, half laying on top of him, moving ever so slowly downward, causing his pet to fidget uneasily. "Something wrong?"

"Please, Gregory. Let me take care of you."

"Oh, you will." Greg's hand wandered south, cupping Mycroft's bollocks before stroking one finger up his length.

Mycroft gasped. "B-but. You said I did well... Why..."

Greg chuckled before sliding a little further down. "You did very well, pet. This isn't punishment. This is for me."

Mycroft squirmed as Greg tongued at his bellybutton. "But I don't - I mean, I..."

Greg raised himself up on his elbows and levelled a gaze at him. "Oh, _pet_. Obviously, you understand the pleasure that can be had by giving pleasure." He stuck out his tongue, giving Mycroft's cock one firm lick, smiling widely when the body under his quivered wildly. "Besides, I want a taste, and I fully intend to have one." With that, he grasped Mycroft's hips and swallowed him down.

Mycroft's back arched involuntarily and he let out a sharp cry before starting to babble mindlessly as Greg sucked at him. "But, Gregory - I already, well - twice, and I'm not sure that there's - oh _Christ_ \- anything left and really, don't you - _Jesus_ \- want me to..."

Greg rolled his eyes and repositioned his body so that one hand could easily reach Mycroft's mouth. Without ceasing his incessant sucking, Greg closed a firm hand over it, cutting off his voice. Mycroft's body arched again, and Greg felt him grow a bit harder against his tongue. Greg chuckled around the flesh on his tongue and slipped two fingers into Mycroft's mouth, which he suckled at eagerly.

With his free hand, Greg tugged on Mycroft's bollocks, giving them a firm squeeze. Mycroft gasped around his fingers and rolled his hips slightly, a shallow thrust into Greg's mouth. Greg hummed his approval, swirling his tongue around the head of Mycroft's cock and then bobbing down, closing his teeth around the root carefully. Mycroft's hips snapped and he let a loud growl escape around Greg's fingers.

Greg pulled his fingers loose, now thoroughly saturated with Mycroft's spittle. He released his cock only long enough to whisper, "Spread 'em". Mycroft shivered as he spread his thighs, body tensing slightly as Greg inserted one finger deep into his arse. Mycroft relaxed again as Greg closed his mouth over his cock once more, sucking in time to the thrusts of his finger.

As Mycroft began to roll his hips, Greg abruptly added the second finger, smiling as the body under him arched and a loud curse echoed through the room. Greg pressed in deep, fluttering his fingers against Mycroft's prostate. He snugged his thumb up behind Mycroft's bollocks, rubbing small circles, stimulating him from inside and out.  
   
A small  _"oh,"_  was all the warning Greg received before Mycroft stiffened and came in his mouth, and he eagerly swallowed it all down before licking him completely clean.

"Oh, my _sweet_ pet..." He allowed Mycroft's cock to slip from his mouth, letting it slap luridly against his cheek as he laid his head on his pet's hip. He kept his fingers buried deep, wiggling them slightly. Every time he brushed up against that small gland, Mycroft's body jumped as if electrocuted and Greg couldn't help but grin. He kept at it for a good minute, until Mycroft let out a little pained whine.  
   
Greg withdrew to the toilet, washing his hands thoroughly before returning to the bed. He climbed in behind Mycroft, curling around him protectively and stroking his soft red hair. "Such a good pet." Mycroft hummed contentedly. Greg pressed in closer, rubbing his hard cock against Mycroft's arse, smiling at his low moan. "You've been good, so I'm going to give you a treat." Mycroft glanced over his shoulder, his grey eyes sparkling. "I know just what you want, pet. You want to suck me, don't you?"  
   
Mycroft swiftly got to his knees and nodded eagerly. "Yes, please."  
   
"But not until you're secure." Greg held up the chain again, key dangling. "So go wash yourself. Make sure you're nice and clean and dry and we'll lock up that lovely prick of yours. Then you'll get your treat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A commitment is made, and Mycroft gets his reward...

The bed fairly bounced as Mycroft hurriedly retreated to the toilet and Greg watched him go, inordinately pleased by the view. There was the sound of running water, and a long period of silence during which Greg pictured Mycroft drying himself carefully.

When Mycroft returned, settling himself back on his knees on the bed, he was indeed quite dry, his red pubic hair fluffed out nicely. Greg sighed as he looked at him, wanting nothing more than to touch and caress and bring that beautiful cock back to hard and throbbing, just for him.

Instead, Greg reached for the black velvet box on the bedside table, opening it without ceremony and handing the device to Mycroft. "Show me, pet." Mycroft smiled brightly and went up on his knees, working the ring free and neatly sliding his cock into the metal tube. He brought his bollocks forward a bit and slid the ring underneath and behind. He clicked the ring back in place and then handed the lock to Greg.

"Here." He tapped at the spot where the lock should go.

Greg hesitated, fiddling with the tiny padlock, open and waiting. He unwound the chain from his fingers and rubbed the tiny key gently. "Pet. I know what this means to you."

"What does it mean, Gregory?" Mycroft's grey eyes were fastened on his face, swimming with unfathomable emotion.

"Commitment, pet. _Ownership_. I may as well be putting a collar around your neck."

"This is much more subtle, don't you think?"

Greg sighed. "I need to know that you're sure, Mycroft. That you've really thought about this. That you've thought about _me_ , that I'm the one you really want holding your key."

Mycroft's fingers closed over Greg's gently. "There is no one else, Gregory. I would be so proud to be yours, and yours alone." He smiled a little crookedly, and Greg drew in a sudden shocked breath at the way it transformed his face. "In a way, your doubt is only making me more certain. I want to belong to you, Gregory. Very much." Mycroft cocked his head slightly. "Do you -" He swallowed uneasily, a little hitch in his chest. "Do you want me?"

"Oh, pet." Greg raised himself up on his knees so he could gather Mycroft in his arms. "Of course I do."

Mycroft carefully took the chain from his hand and dropped it over his head, placing his palm on the key resting on Greg's bare chest, just over his heart. "Then take what I am offering you. _Please_."

Greg nodded solemnly and bent slightly to slip the padlock into place, snapping it closed with an audible click. He smiled with satisfaction as Mycroft's body shuddered at the sound, feeling his own chest fill with something vaguely warm and indefinable. He let his fingers trail over the device, his fingertips sliding in between the bars and caressing Mycroft's silky flesh. Greg's fingers dipped underneath, where he briefly fiddled with Mycroft's bollocks, tickling at them and giving them a gentle squeeze. They still hung somewhat loose, with no pinching or apparent swelling, so Greg found that his concerns were a bit mollified. He slowly wrapped his hand around the device and tugged gently, chuckling at Mycroft's sudden intake of breath.

"Fascinating." He lifted his eyes to find Mycroft staring at him in wonder. "And quite lovely."

_"Oh, Gregory."_ Mycroft clasped Greg's face in his hands and crashed their mouths together, neatly overbalancing them both. Greg flailed as his body toppled slowly backward on the bed, clutching at his pet and dragging him down on top of him. Mycroft sighed with delight and rubbed his cheek against Greg's, relishing in the feel of his stubble as it scraped across his skin. He nosed under Greg's ear and along his neck, resting his lips over the pulse point, sticking out his tongue and probing at the pulse of Gregory's heartbeat before trailing wetness down and along his collarbone.

Greg groaned as Mycroft rubbed against him, face and hands and hips all in motion, all at once. The solid weight of the device sliding against and over his cock and bollocks was bewilderingly erotic, and somehow, oddly reassuring.

_"Gregory..."_ Mycroft's voice was low and breath, with just the slightest hint of a growl in his chest.

Greg let out a quick huff of laughter, suddenly realising what the rubbing was all about. "Marking me, pet? Shouldn't it be the other way round?" Mycroft sat up abruptly, uncertainty clear in his expression. "No, pet. Don't look like that. You are mine, and I am yours." Greg wriggled his body and grinned as he spread out his arms. "Do with me as you wish."

Mycroft's eyes flashed and a wolfish grin spread over his face. "Truly, Gregory?"

"Truly, pet."

Mycroft let him go, swiftly crawling to the bottom of the bed to lift the lid of the trunk there, bending over to search for something. Greg moaned low in his throat at the sight of Mycroft's nicely purpled arse being presented to him in such a manner.

"Are you testing my self-control, pet? Because I can tell you that I will easily fail such a test." Greg growled loudly. "On _purpose_."

"No, Gregory. It is not a test." Mycroft blushed faintly as he hesitated ever-so-briefly. "I would not make you wait to take anything from me that you wished. You have but to make your wishes known." He clutched a bit of black fabric in his fingers and twisted it awkwardly.

"A blindfold?" Greg quirked an eyebrow. "I like to watch, Mycroft. I want to see that clever tongue of yours at work."

Mycroft's mouth twisted uneasily and he looked down at the mattress. "I know that you do, Gregory. It would only be this once, please. And there is the camera - you would be able to view the footage later. _Please_. Just this first time..."

Greg sat up and reached to pull Mycroft closer. "Pet, you're distressed. Why?" Greg studied his face, the nervously twitching fingers, the eyes that refused to meet his. "Are - are you _shy_ , Mycroft?" Greg laughed incredulously. "You strip naked without a second thought, and unselfconsciously kneel at my side. You practically beg me to lock up your prick, but you don't want me watching as you swallow down my cock? What a befuddling creature you are, my pet."

"Gregory, please..." Mycroft pulled Greg in for a deep kiss. _"Please."_

"It's all right, pet. I already said I was yours to do with as you will, and I meant it. Do what you need to do."

"Gregory..." Mycroft quickly straddled Greg's lap and lifted the blindfold to his face, adjusting the straps so no light showed. Greg ran his hands down Mycroft's back and cupped his arse. The body pressed flush up against his was practically vibrating with excitement, and he couldn't help but grin in response. Mycroft's reply was to press in even closer and throw his arms around Greg's neck, kissing every part of his face that wasn't covered by the blindfold.

Then he felt himself being pushed back against the pillows. Greg complied, allowing Mycroft to guide him where he wanted. He wiggled his fingers on whatever bit of Mycroft he was touching and grinned at his quiet squeal. "I can't promise that I won't try to peek, pet."

"Shush, Gregory. Just... _shush_." Greg hummed noncommittally as  Mycroft lifted his weight off his lap. "Turn over, please." Greg smiled and flipped over on his belly, cradling his head on his crossed arms. He felt Mycroft shifting around on the bed, but had no idea where he was headed or what his intentions were. Greg found himself liking the uncertainty quite a bit, and wondered why he hadn't done this before.

The first trembling touch was at the instep of his left foot, fingers trailing upward to wrap around his ankle briefly. Then moving up his calf, stilling momentarily at three circular scars clustered together.

"Gregory?"

"From my footie days. Got studded. Nothing quite like steel-tipped studs being driven into muscle with the weight of a full grown man behind the blow."

Greg could almost hear the wince, but Mycroft's fingers moved on, tracing up the back of his left thigh. Then he started on the right leg, again with the instep and up to ankle and calf. This time the scar was on the outer edge of his right thigh, a longish scrape dotted with pockmarks. Mycroft tapped on it gently.

"Road rash. I had just gotten my bike and decided to go for a quick ride without my gear, like a first-class idiot. Cab popped out of nowhere and I took a dive. At least I was wearing relatively thick denim. Could've been much worse."

The flat of both palms on his arse-cheeks, fingers kneading and grasping. Mycroft sighed as Greg moaned low. Then the hands were on the move again, thumbs sliding neatly along both sides of his spine. Another tap, on the right side, just along the fourth rib.

"Hm. Oh, yeah... I was a rookie, chased down a guy who was robbing people on the street at knifepoint. He somehow ended up behind me and got the jump on me. Good thing he wasn't very good with that blade of his. Glanced off the rib, ended up as more of a scratch than an actual wound. Still bled pretty nicely."

Mycroft bent over him and kissed the scar. His hands continued to move, up and over Greg's shoulders and down his arms. A tap just above his left elbow. "Another knife. That one was a DV call-out. Unbelievably, the wife took exception to us trying to drag her mad bastard of a husband off of her and out of the house." Greg felt himself growing tense and tried to shake it off, but as Mycroft's lips traced down his spine and his fingers gently threaded through the hair at the back of his head, the tension suddenly fell away.

" _Shh_ , Gregory. On your back, now."

Greg rolled over and heaved out a sigh. "Are you going to catalogue them all, pet? Because I can assure you that your little brother has quite the complete listing. It might save time if you were to exchange notes."

Mycroft chuckled quietly. "No, not all." His soft hands traced the lines of Greg's face and then down his sternum, his touch dipping low on the left side of his belly. "Appendix?"

"Yup. I was nine. Kind of touch-and-go for a while, they almost didn't catch it in time." A little higher up, on the right side. "Soldier returned home from a tour with bad PTSD. Went a bit mad at a schoolyard with his service pistol. I saw an opportunity to bring him down and went for it. I was shot for my troubles."

"Gregory!"

"Just a graze, really. Better me than some innocent kid."

"You are quite remarkable, my dear."

" _Pfft._ Half of 'em are from my own stupidity, pet."

"Still. You are astonishingly brave."

Greg scoffed quietly. "I've just been lucky. You should see John's. Now there's a brave man." Greg cocked his head slightly. "Is this some kind of kink, pet?"

"Unless the kink is 'memorising every inch of Gregory Lestrade', then no, it isn't. I don't get turned on by scars. They are simply a means to discover the story of _you_ , Gregory. So much of who we are is written indelibly in our flesh." His hands continued their exploration until he came to the rather nasty gash down his right shin. Mycroft's fingers caressed the puckered skin.

"Fell out of a tree like a right git, and the bone broke rather messily. They had to slice me open and pin it all back together. That was the same year as the appendix surgery. Nearly held me back a year at school, but I just managed to squeak through."

And with that, the inventory seemed to have been concluded. There was no word spoken, it was just as though the temperature in the air had heated several degrees as Mycroft's intention shifted. The hands that were loosely wrapped around his ankles flexed, and the fingers trailed upwards. The touch was no longer clinical, investigatory. Greg could practically feel Mycroft's grey eyes travelling over his body, and they felt _hungry_.

Greg's body shivered and his cock twitched back into life, his erection having waned during Mycroft's cataloguing of his scars. He felt the bed shift and then a hot breath across his bollocks. He moaned as his body arched, hips thrusting into air as his knees fell open and loose. Mycroft's body heat crawled up and over his body, until that hot breath was on his neck. 

Mycroft carefully lowered himself down, once more rubbing his caged cock along and over and across Greg's groin. Greg groaned, his arms and legs coming up to imprison Mycroft in a tangle of limbs. He ran his hands upward, fisting into Mycroft's soft red hair. Mycroft gasped before Greg's grip brought their mouths close, tongues writhing together before their lips even touched. 

"Gregory..."

" _Mycroft._ Oh, pet."

"Yours, Gregory. Only _yours_."

"Mine, pet. I know. _Mine_."

Mycroft pushed himself up on his hands and knees, and Greg reluctantly let him go. He began to move back down, tongue trailing wet and hot along Greg's sternum and belly and then lower. He bypassed Greg's cock and nosed underneath his bollocks, licking along his perineum, dipping just a bit lower than was strictly appropriate.

Greg gasped low, the sound coming out strangled. "Pet... _No_."

"But you want it, Gregory."

Mycroft's breath ghosted along his cock and Greg gasped again. "Doesn't matter. It's not allowed, Mycroft. John would have my hide, and yours as well."

"But..."

"Mycroft. I said no. Do _not_ defy me."

Greg could practically feel the pout on Mycroft's face, even as his fingers rolled and tugged at his bollocks. "And what if I do?" 

"I will get up and I will walk away and I will take care of myself alone and you will not be permitted to return for three whole days."

"Gregory!" Mycroft's tone was shocked, but only slightly. Greg could tell that he was weighing the pros and cons of the punishment against his potential actions.

" _Five_ days."

_" Hmph."_ The argument seemingly won, Mycroft lowered his mouth and licked a long stripe up Greg's cock before sucking on his bollocks one at a time, humming against the silky flesh.

"Pet. I know you want this just as much as I do. Stop - oh God - stop _teasing_."

"Anticipation, Gregory. That way it will be all the sweeter when I finally do take you in my mouth."

"There is nothing you can do to make your mouth any sweeter, pet. Save actually _wrapping it around my prick_." Greg snarled. "Now."

"Gre \- _mmph_!"  Mycroft's words went unspoken as Greg wrapped his hands around Mycroft's head and lowered it onto his cock. He gently rubbed Mycroft's nose into his pubic hair and then released his grip on his head. Mycroft had no choice but to take the not-so-subtle hint, and worked his tongue along the underside of Greg's shaft as he took him in impossibly deeper.

Greg threw his head back and groaned lustily. "Sweet motherfucking Christ! How do you _do_ that?"  Mycroft moved as if to pull off, and Greg grabbed blindly for his head again. "Don't you dare." Mycroft's lips quirked around his shaft as he moved back down, meeting Greg's erratic thrusts with slow, steady bobs of his head. Greg kept one hand fisted into the hair at the back of Mycroft's head and reached down with the other to grab hold of his upper arm.

Mycroft stretched his arm over his head and caressed Greg's chest, finding the little key on its chain resting over his heart. He tugged on it slightly, moaning low in his throat as Greg increased his pace. "Fuck _yes_ , pet. Mine. Your mouth, your throat, it's all mine. Your tongue, Jesus fuck that tongue. Your body. _All mine_." Greg growled as he tightened his grip on  Mycroft's hair, drawing tears from his eyes as he tugged on the sensitive follicles.

Mycroft let them fall, mingling with the excess saliva that was slowly dripping down his chin. He started swallowing, closing the muscles of his throat around Greg's cock as he drove it in steadily. His free hand worked under and behind Greg's bollocks, rubbing firmly. "Myc \- _ohhh_!" With a long, drawn-out groan, Greg's entire body stiffened and he came, pulsing into  Mycroft's mouth and down that long white throat.

Mycroft let Greg slip from his mouth, panting in breath in huge gasping pulls. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked up at Gregory, his own chest heaving. Mycroft bent down to lick up the little bit of his lover's release that had escaped, still breathing heavily over Greg's spent cock. He could feel the shift in Gregory's head as it happened, and he swiftly crawled up his body to put a stop to it.

 " _Jesus_ , pet. I'm sorry if I - "

Mycroft pressed his mouth to Greg's almost desperately. "Shut up, Gregory. Just shut up. No need to apologise for taking what is _yours_." He insinuated his tongue into Greg's mouth, grinning with delight as he groaned and flipped them both over, crushing their lips together.  Mycroft reached up to slip the blindfold off. "You didn't hurt me. You were - magnificent."

Greg blinked against the light, and looked down at the man in his arms. He noted the trace of tears on the corners of his eyes, the wildly tousled hair, the reddened and swollen lips. He noted too the light of desire in Mycroft's grey eyes, the glow of satisfaction on his face.

"Anything, Gregory. It is all yours for the taking."

"Anything, pet?"

Mycroft swallowed, a brief hesitation as his eyes darted down and then back again. "Anything. I swear."

_"Hm."_ Greg bent down to kiss him again, gently, slowly. He moved his mouth down and along the long column of his neck, coming to rest on his collarbone. Greg shifted slightly, resting his head on  Mycroft's chest, listening to his heartbeat and tracing the delicate lines along his ribs as long, elegant fingers worked through his silver hair.

They laid together like that for long moments, simply holding one another and breathing steadily as Greg considered. His pet had offered him 'anything', but Greg could sense that there were reservations. Mycroft certainly wouldn't begrudge him anything that he chose to do, but Greg needed to know that certain things were indeed freely given. He sighed quietly. For all of his bluster about having no self-control, Greg knew himself to be very patient. So he would wait until he was sure. Until Mycroft was sure. Until then, he would plan...

"I can feel you thinking, Gregory."

Greg huffed out a laugh over Mycroft's skin. "Of course you can, pet. That is one of the Holmes superpowers, in't it?" He stuck out his tongue and ran it around a soft pink nipple, smiling as Mycroft gasped. "I was thinking that I have to work tomorrow, and so do you."

"Hm. Well, damn."

Greg laughed again, raising himself up on one elbow. "Well put, pet. Couldn't have said it better myself." He pushed himself up and sat up slowly, his head spinning slightly as he threw his legs over the side of the bed and sat watching as Mycroft rolled out of bed and began to gather his clothing. "Come here, pet." Mycroft quirked an eyebrow, but quickly came to stand in front of him. Greg reached out, running his fingers down the length of Mycroft's body to his caged cock. He tugged at it gently, listening to Mycroft's quick intake of breath before tugging more forcefully, causing his pet to fall forward, nearly crashing into him as he raised his hands to his face, kissing him deeply as he manipulated the device.

"Gregory... If you continue, I'll have no choice but to take you again."

"At least this time I could watch."

Mycroft smiled crookedly at Greg's petulant tone. "What was that about work in the morning?"

"Sod work."

"And John and Sherlock?"

"Aw, _shite_." Greg sighed and tugged hard once more before releasing  Mycroft and turning him around. He smacked his arse. "Fine. Get dressed then, you tart. You're impossible to resist when you're starkers and you still have my marks all over you."

"Well, just close your eyes, then."

"Nope. Had enough of that tonight already."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but re-dressed swiftly, tucking and hiding away all evidence of their tryst. Once all of his layers were back in place, so was the cold and professional façade. Greg squinted up at him before sliding his pants back on and gathering up his own clothing. He reached out for Mycroft's tie and fisted it, bringing his mouth to his none-too-gently. Mycroft's eyes glazed over and he turned to the door in a haze.

"That's better." Mycroft winked as Greg grinned, and then he was out the door and down the stairs. 

Greg followed once again, making sure that the flat was locked up securely. _'Must get a key made up.'_ As the night before, he went to take a shower, tipping his clothes into the laundry basket. There was a slight noise behind him and Greg turned to see John silently watching him from the doorway.

"All right, love?"

Greg grinned and did a foolish little dance before wrapping an arm around John's waist and bringing him in for a thorough snog. "Better than all right." He moved his mouth to John's ear and breathed out a quiet giggle of delight. _"No gag reflex."_

John laughed before shoving Greg back toward the shower, his slate-blue eyes dancing with amusement even as his mouth turned down in a mock frown. "Stop showing off, you smarmy bastard."

"You're just jealous."

John crossed his arms over his chest and leant in to Greg. "Maybe. Or maybe I _like_ making you and Sherlock choke on my cock." He delivered that line with a saucy wink and then turned back to the bedroom, leaving Greg standing there with a wicked grin on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg sends Mycroft a gift, and he puts it to use...

Mycroft sat at his delightfully ostentatious mahogany desk and scowled down at the tray resting on the surface. The tea was adequate, he supposed, but the yoghurt and fruit that accompanied it frankly offended him. He sighed melodramatically as he sipped at his tea and found himself wishing that he was at Baker Street instead, drinking John's wonderful tea, even if it were out of that perfectly _dreadful_ mug. John's tea and a pastry, even the cloyingly sweet nonsense that Mrs. Hudson provided - that would be so much better than...this.  
   
He sighed again as he took a mouthful, understanding that he had a very long day ahead of him, and having something in his stomach was at least better than nothing. Mycroft never could understand his little brother's need to prove dominion over his own body by denying it the most basic of needs. Anthea knocked briefly and then entered with the morning post, her attention totally focused on her small mobile, and Mycroft watched momentarily as her thumbs flew over the keypad. She stood there for a moment, seeming to ignore her employer completely as he sorted the post. Mycroft noted a small box with interest, his heartbeat quickening and his his cheeks warming as he recognised the handwriting. What could Gregory have possibly sent him?  
   
The constant clicking at his ear slowed temporarily, and Mycroft looked up, startled. Anthea's eyes were bright and interested as she looked the box over carefully. Mycroft cleared his throat as he nodded toward his office door. "On with your business, my dear." She nodded briefly, the tempo of her typing once again nearly steady.  
   
On her way out the door, she paused and half-turned back. "For what it's worth, sir - I hope this one treats you better than the last." She smiled faintly as Mycroft stared, and then quietly closed the door behind her.  
   
Mycroft toyed with his letter opener briefly before placing the box on the desk in front of him and carefully slicing open the tape. There was a folded note, and as he lifted it out he caught sight of a - _good Lord_ \- an anal plug, bright and brand-new. Mycroft reached in to pick it up, feeling the pleasant heft of it in his hand. It was solid metal, nice and heavy, with a flared but flat base - the kind that could be worn comfortably for extended periods of time. He peeked into the box again and pulled out a couple of small packets of lube before opening the note.  
   
 _'Tonight, your arse is mine. I don't want to be patient any more, and I'm certainly not going to be gentle. So it might be in your best interests to be prepared. If this is going to be a problem for you, tell me as soon as you get this.'_  
   
Mycroft shifted in his seat, wincing slightly as his cock twitched, straining against its prison. He pondered briefly. In the six weeks or so that he had been visiting Gregory at Baker Street, they had done a great many things, but actual penetrative sex had not been one of them. Gregory had somehow sensed that Mycroft wasn't ready for that step, and had been remarkably patient about it. But no, Gregory wouldn't have to be patient any longer. Mycroft was more than ready for this next step.  
   
Mycroft picked up his mobile from the desk, shaking his head at his infuriatingly trembling fingers. _'8 pm. I'll be ready._ '  
   
He shivered as his phone buzzed in his hand almost immediately. _'Yes, you will.'_  
   
 _Unf._ Mycroft blew out a quick breath. How the hell was he supposed to concentrate on work now? He took another draught of tea and shook himself slightly. The supplies went back into the box, and the box into his drawer, which he locked securely. No need to put it in now, it wasn't quite ten in the morning. No, he would wait until late afternoon, early evening. It would be much easier for him to concentrate that way. Right? He ran his hand down his thigh and breathed in deeply. _Right._  
   
A couple of minor diplomatic fires managed to capture his attention for most of the day, and before he knew it, Anthea was bringing in the afternoon tea. There was a sandwich on the tray in addition to his customary biscuits, and Mycroft quirked an eyebrow at it and turned a curious look on his P.A.

"You hardly touched your breakfast, sir. You'll need your energy."

Heat flooded his face and Mycroft cleared his throat. "Away with you, meddling shrew." She laughed brightly and retreated to the exterior office. Once he was sure that the door was securely fastened, he reached for the sandwich.

After tea had been consumed, Mycroft retrieved the box and went into his en suite. He pulled the plug out of the box and weighed it in his hand again before washing it thoroughly. Not too large, so that meant taking Gregory later would stretch him even further - he was rather thick. Mycroft felt a twinge of apprehension at the thought but shook himself out of it. Even though he had clearly stated that he wasn't going to be gentle, he didn't think that Gregory could be anything but. It had just been so long... Nearly a year since the less than friendly break-up with Josef, and before that - well.

Mycroft dropped his trousers and stepped out of them, folding them carefully and placing them on the counter, leaving his pants pooled on the floor. He opened one of the packets of lube and then crouched, dipping one finger in the slippery substance and circling his arsehole with it before dipping it in gently, tensing at the feeling. _Dammit, Mycroft. Relax. It's just your own finger, for God's sake._

He closed his eyes and continued to finger himself lightly, moving only that one finger in and out with a steady motion. He let his thoughts turn to Gregory, and felt his body relax minutely as he took in a deep breath. Of course - it was Gregory's wish that he do this, and so he would. Mycroft thought of his hands, so strong, rough against his soft skin, imagined his teeth, shining so white when he grinned in that delightfully wicked way. Oh, his dark eyes, sparkling with lust and need when he looked at him. The smell of him, _oh God_ , the taste of him.

Mycroft moaned low, and was slightly surprised to find that he was fucking himself fairly steadily, two fingers sliding in and out with ease. He shook his head with a slight sense of disbelief. Only Gregory could do this to him. Ever since first meeting him all those years ago, he had been entranced, much like his little brother had been. He laughed quietly. Born seven years apart, but he and Sherlock may as well have been born as twins- they had much the same mind, and certainly some of the same desires. They even shared a streak of self-destructiveness, although it manifested in each of them in drastically different ways.

He removed his fingers and grasped the base of the plug, squeezing more of the lube out onto the tip. He placed it at his entrance and pushed gently as he bore down on his inner muscles. There was a bit of a burn as the widest bit passed through his sphincter, but overall, it popped in fairly easily. He clenched around the plug, feeling the weight of it settling into place, and found that if he angled his hips just so - _hm_. Mycroft shuddered pleasantly as the tip brushed against his prostate faintly.

Mycroft stood slowly, his legs trembling as he clenched down again, smiling to himself in the mirror as he watched colour flood his cheeks. He felt another kind of warmth when he realised that this was not one of the toys that he had supplied at the beginning of their arrangement. Gregory had purchased this, just for him - and he had apparently chosen well.  
   
He washed his hands thoroughly and re-dressed before glancing at his watch. Just past six. Two hours. He clenched again as he sat back down at his desk, repressing a pleasant shudder. Concentrate, Mycroft. He called Anthea in to dictate some letters, studiously ignoring her slight smirk every time he shifted in his chair. She knew something, but how? Mycroft's steady recitation of a letter to the Prime Minister faltered slightly as he realised that all of the post coming into this building was sent through a metal detector, and if anything pinged, it would consequently be sent through the x-ray. And of course his P.A. had contacts in all of the various departments of their organisation, not to mention holding the fancy of several of the clerks that worked in the mail room. Well, damn. Mycroft took in a deep breath and shifted in his seat again, tipping his chin to the ceiling as another smirk crossed her face. He shook his head and continued his recitations.  
   
At quarter til eight, Anthea stood, tapping away at her mobile with one hand while gathering her materials with the other. Mycroft looked at her in astonishment.  
   
"Oh, are we done then? I could swear that there is still business remaining..."  
   
"Business that can be handled tomorrow, sir. You don't want to be late for your engagement."  
   
Mycroft felt the heat rise in his cheeks once again, but refused to acknowledge it. "Anthea. I realise that you're trying to be helpful, but it is not for you to say whether or not our business is concluded for the day."  
   
She cocked her head and smiled slowly. "Today, sir, I believe it is. Tonight, of all nights, you don't want to keep him waiting."  
   
Mycroft stood abruptly. "And what do you know of it?"  
   
She strode to the door and held it open, still smiling enigmatically. "I know that he expects you in ten minutes. And that it would be wise for you to be there on time."   
   
With a quick glance at his watch, and a sudden sinking feeling in his chest, Mycroft went to the door, pausing only to retrieve his umbrella out of the stand by the door. He straightened his shoulders as her gaze passed over his body, and eyed her narrowly. "After this evening, you will mind your own business. Is that understood?"  
   
"Oh, yes sir. I've been perfectly frightful today, I apologise. Now, the car is waiting for you downstairs, and I do suggest you get a move on." She gave him a little shove out the door, and Mycroft just had the presence of mind to give her an outraged glare before hustling down the hallway to the elevators.   
   
They arrived at Baker Street at three minutes past, due to some rather inventive shortcuts, judicious use of the accelerator, and a surprising lack of use of the brake pedal on the part of his driver. Mycroft quickly exited the car with a heady sigh of relief and tapped on the driver's window with the handle of his umbrella.  
   
"George. Whatever Anthea told you to get you to flout the law in such an egregious fashion, I assure you it will not happen. Kindly do not take our lives into your hands in such a manner again."  
   
George smiled faintly and nodded his head. "No, sir."  
   
Mycroft glanced at his watch. "I am not certain how long I will be. If you would prefer to be - elsewhere, I can text you when I am ready to depart."  
   
The smile grew. "Thank you, sir."  
   
He turned as the car pulled away smoothly, making use of his personal key to let himself into the flat. Mycroft deposited his umbrella in the stand and quickly headed up the stairs, pausing at the door to the sitting room. John was sitting on the sofa, looking over some papers. He turned his head and looked Mycroft over slowly, winking slyly. Mycroft shivered. Had Gregory told him what he had planned for tonight?  
   
John stood and stretched, his jumper rising above the waistband of his jeans, revealing a swath of golden skin, taut over toned muscle. He winked at Mycroft again. "Good luck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg takes Mycroft...

Mycroft swallowed uneasily and headed up the second set of stairs, the dangerous curve of John's mouth lingering in his imagination. He found himself thinking that he wouldn't mind in the least if Gregory were sharing details of their tryst with John. In fact, he wouldn't mind if Gregory were to share quite a bit more with the little army doctor. He shook himself slightly, trying to reconcile that odd thought with his own personal philosophies, as Mycroft had always been steadfastly monogamous. It wasn't something he requested from his partners, but he himself had always found more satisfaction in being dedicated to, truly _belonging_ to, only one man at a time.  
   
But John... Well, he was a rather remarkable man, to have put up with Sherlock for so long, but it wasn't just that. If not for John, then Sherlock and Greg never would have admitted their feelings for each other. Sherlock had been too stubborn, and Greg too kind and considerate - John had been the catalyst that had spurred them both into action. He was the reason for - everything, really. And he was undeniably attractive too, with his soldier's physique and doctor's steady gaze. Mycroft stood outside the door to the attic room and pondered briefly, vivid images of what could be flashing through his mind before he shook them out of his head firmly. No. John belonged to Gregory, and to Sherlock. While he didn't think that Gregory would mind at all, and would undoubtedly enjoy it, the same could not be said of his taciturn little brother. No. Don't be selfish, Mycroft.  
   
He blew out a quick breath and opened the door, slipping through and closing it securely behind him. With barely a glance at the man sitting on the bed, just enough to note that he was already nude and half-hard _(oh my God)_ , Mycroft began to relieve himself of his personal effects, placing them in the drawer that Gregory had assigned for him. He slid his jacket and waistcoat off his shoulders and went to hang them, tensing slightly as he heard the springs in the mattress shifting with Gregory's body weight.  
   
Mycroft shook himself again and starting working on unfastening the buttons of his shirt, fumbling at them in his haste. Gregory's body heat was suddenly radiating over his back as he pulled Mycroft's shirt and vest out of his trousers, simply yanking them over his head before tossing the tangled bundle into the corner and then latching onto his neck, biting down firmly as he pressed his torso along Mycroft's naked back.  
   
Mycroft's knees trembled and he moaned as his lover's hard cock rubbed against his arse, but then Gregory's arms were around him, his broad fingers deftly unlatching his belt and undoing the zip on his trousers. He grabbed hold of both the waistband of his trousers and pants and shoved them down roughly, discarding them in a pile on the floor as Greg pushed Mycroft toward the bed.  
   
"Gregory - my clothes..."  
   
Greg growled. "Your bloody clothes can be ironed later, pet." He turned him around, threading the fingers of his left hand in Mycroft's hair and pulling back firmly as his right hand sought out his caged cock. He tugged on the device as he licked a wet stripe up his pet's throat, and then brought their lips together hard, invading Mycroft's mouth with his tongue.  
   
Mycroft whimpered and shuddered, holding on to Greg's hips for support as his body already felt nearly boneless, completely compliant under his captor's grip. Greg growled again in contentment, nuzzling into his neck as he tugged once more on cock and hair, pulling his pet in opposite directions and eliciting another quiet whimper. Greg grasped the back of Mycroft's neck and pushed him slowly into bending over the bed, face-first into the mattress, trailing his hand down his spine as his captive settled himself with a little sigh.

"Did you enjoy my little gift, pet?"

"Oh yes, Gregory."

"Let's just see how much, hm?"

Another delicious shudder rocked Mycroft's body as both of Gregory's hands grasped at his arse, squeezing and kneading at his cheeks. The plug shifted slightly as his flesh was manipulated, and Mycroft couldn't help but roll his hips, striving for that extra little jolt of pleasure.

_"Lovely."_ Greg's soft sigh tickled along Mycroft's skin, and he shivered as his back broke out into gooseflesh. Then a quiet tension descended as Greg took hold of the base of the plug and twisted sharply, causing Mycroft's body to arch involuntarily and pushing a loud gasp out of his mouth. Greg hummed and twisted again, pressing it in deeper at the same time.

Mycroft yelped as it made contact with his prostate, the small gland already over-sensitive due to two hours of near constant stimulation. Greg chuckled and repeated the motion. Mycroft bit his lip in an attempt to keep silent, but was unable to prevent another high-pitched noise from escaping.

Greg couldn't help but laugh. "Well, in't that terribly distracting..." He moved to the foot of the bed and flipped open the toy box, humming tunelessly as he rummaged through it. "Ah! Stand up, pet."

Mycroft stood and then moaned low when he saw the ball-gag in Greg's hand. It was the medium-sized one, his favourite - meant mostly for silence, not humiliation or discomfort. Mycroft opened his mouth eagerly and Greg smiled indulgently as he slipped the ball in and tugged at the straps to secure them as his pet worked his tongue around the intrusion, settling it in his mouth comfortably. Greg's eyes glinted as he stepped back slightly, looking over Mycroft with unbridled lust.

He sobered slightly. "One more thing, pet, and then I'm going to take you." Mycroft's eyes fluttered and he moaned. "Hand signals." Mycroft nodded. "Green." Mycroft gave a thumbs-up. "Yellow." Palm flat, fingers spread. "Red." Fingers curled into a fist. Greg smiled slowly. "Oh, you're such a good pet. Back down, now."

Mycroft swiftly bent over the bed again, his body tensing unconsciously at the crackle of the condom wrapper and the soft click of the lid on the bottle of lube. Then Gregory's hands were on him, and he felt himself relaxing again as blunt fingernails dragged along his spine all the way to his tailbone. Gregory gave the toy another push, pressing it in as deep as it could go, giving voice to a quiet rumble of pleasure as Mycroft's back arched and he let out a muffled whine.

Then the plug was removed and simply discarded, hitting the floor with a solid thump. Mycroft tensed before feeling Gregory's hot breath on his arse-cheeks, and he suddenly realised that he had crouched behind him, and was seemingly studying his stretched hole. Then there were fingers manipulating his flesh, as Greg slowly inserted both thumbs and gently tugged in opposite directions. Mycroft groaned and buried his face in the mattress, unable to prevent himself from pushing back into him.

There was an answering groan from behind him and another hot blast of breath brushing over his exposed flesh. " _God_ , pet. So fucking beautiful." Mycroft tilted his hips, trying to thrust against Greg's fingers. "Mm. You want it, don't you?" The floor creaked quietly as he stood, leaning down over Mycroft's utterly prone figure to whisper in his ear. "You're just aching for my fat cock to pound into you, aren't you?"

Mycroft could only nod desperately, his body writhing against the bed, seeking contact with his lover. Greg rubbed his cock along the cleft of Mycroft's arse, almost but not quite at his hole. He hummed again before reaching up and snapping the strap of the ball-gag. "I almost want to hear you beg for it. _Almost_." Mycroft whimpered and did the only begging he could, pressing against Greg and turning both hands into a thumbs-up.

Greg huffed out a silent laugh and straightened again, pulling Mycroft's arse-cheeks apart with both hands and lining himself up before simply sliding in all the way to the root. He grunted with pleasure as he took hold of Mycroft's hips, yanking his pliant body further down onto him.

Oh God, _yes_. Mycroft moaned low, pressing his forehead into the mattress and clutching at the bedclothes. There was a burn, yes, a not-entirely-comfortable but not-at-all-painful stretch as Gregory filled him. Filled him completely, utterly. Warmth suddenly bloomed in his chest, threatening to spill over behind his eyes. _Yes._ This - this was what he had been waiting for all this time.

He had only let a few have this privilege before, and none had felt like this. So right, so perfect, as Gregory started to move, stroking into him deep and sure. Mycroft felt something in his belly quiver and release, and then his body just...relaxed. All of his stresses, all of the tension - it was just gone. Greg groaned behind him as his grip moved from his hips to his shoulders, pulling Mycroft down onto him as he thrust with increasing ferocity.

_Oh, yes_. Mycroft tried to give Greg the leverage he was seeking, dipping his spine and raising his upper torso off of the bed. Greg snarled his approval before his grip changed again, grasping at Mycroft's arms above the elbow and pulling back, forcing his spine to curve at an almost impossible angle. Mycroft's head dropped forward as he moaned into the ball-gag, drool beginning to dribble down his chin.

Gregory growled. "Pet?" Mycroft heard a tinge of concern in that gloriously gravelly voice, and hastened to give him a thumbs-up even as his body was jolted with every thrust. There was a beautiful deep moan from the man pounding into him steadily and Mycroft threw back his head, keening with pleasure as Greg suddenly changed his angle, dragging the head of his delicious cock over his pet's prostate relentlessly. He tried to thrash, to pull away in order to prolong the exquisite torture, but Gregory had him in a firm grip, his strong arms pulling tight and hips pushing deep.

Mycroft's cock twitched hard, straining against its confinement. He soon realised that the cage didn't matter, as that familiar hot tension started to build in his bollocks and chest - even locked up quite securely, the anticipation and the constant stimulation was swiftly proving to be too much for him to control. He was going to come. For a brief moment, Mycroft's head and chest filled with sheer bloody panic, his body distinctly remembering past punishments for coming without permission. Then his head cleared and he snapped back to the present with the sound of another deep moan from behind him, and he suddenly remembered who he was with. No, this wasn't Josef, with his harsh words, his stupidly arbitrary rules, his startlingly quick changes of behaviour and attitude. Mycroft had never known whether he was to be punished or comforted when he happened to lose control, often leaving him confused and off-kilter. But then, that was the way Josef liked it. Gregory would never behave in that manner, he was far too caring and besides - he wanted Mycroft as he was, as his own man, not as some nebulous ideal that had been crafted out of nothing but pure wish-fulfilment. With Gregory, he could be himself and never have to ask permission because he knew that it would always be granted.

He was startled out of his reverie as Greg's hot sweet breath brushed over the back of his neck, pulling him in impossibly tighter, thrusting impossibly deeper. "Let go, beautiful. Fuck, you're so hot and tight, I want to feel your arse squeeze me hard and feel your body clamp down on my cock when you come. I want to take you _apart_ and feel it right down to my core. Do it, Mycroft. Come for me, my gorgeous pet."

Mycroft sucked in a quick breath from his nose as Gregory's words sank into his head and then he was simply there, his body shuddering and quaking uncontrollably. He threw his head back and screamed into the gag, not caring that he was practically choking himself on his own spittle. Greg positively roared behind him and sank his teeth into his neck, muffling his own cries as he spent deep into Mycroft's body.

For a moment, everything was white-hot heat and tense muscles, trembling breath and flushed skin. Then Greg relaxed slightly, releasing his grip on Mycroft and wrapping his arms around his chest. He carefully lowered them both to the bed and only then did he take his teeth from Mycroft's neck. With shaky hands, he loosened the ball-gag and tossed it aside.

Mycroft took in a great breath, but otherwise left his mouth hanging slack. "Ohh..." He writhed against the bed, against the hot body that was securely pinning him down.

He felt more than heard Greg's brief chuckle. "I concur, pet." He moved slightly within him. "You feel magnificent. If only I could stay seated in your fine arse all the time..."

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow as he glanced over his shoulder. "That would make things a little awkward at the office, don't you think?"

Greg laughed aloud, earning a desperate moan from Mycroft as he quaked within him. "Oh, pet." He stood and withdrew carefully, both of them groaning at the broken contact. He discarded the condom and placed his hands on Mycroft's hips. "Let's turn you over. I want to see." Mycroft flopped over bonelessly, sighing as Greg's hands caressed and explored. "You came, I could feel it. But there's not much here."

Mycroft giggled, feeling his head buzz pleasantly. "It felt - different. Amazing. But different. That's never happened before."

"Coming while caged?" Mycroft smiled at the unmistakable tone of pride present in Greg's voice.

"Never." He sighed deeply. "The things you do to me, Gregory."

"I'll keep doing them as long as you want me to, pet." He looked at Mycroft intensely. "I don't think I'm quite through with you just yet..."

Mycroft struggled to prop himself up on his elbows, raising one eyebrow inquisitively. "Oh? I can barely move, Gregory. What more do you want from me?"

Greg grinned cheekily, gesturing at Mycroft's bound cock. "Evidence. This is insufficient."

Mycroft's head bounced back onto the bed. "Bloody detectives."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another go...

Greg laughed and clambered onto the bed next to Mycroft, reaching out to tuck his arm under his head. Mycroft sighed and rolled into him, unconsciously rubbing his caged cock into Greg's hip. Greg hummed as Mycroft writhed against him.

"I need a moment, pet."

"Oh, but _Gregory_... You felt so good inside me." Mycroft slipped a knee in between Greg's legs and continued to rub and wriggle gently. "So right, so perfect. So thick and heavy and hard, oh God, you get so very _hard_ , Gregory. I want you to fill me up again, I need it, oh please, I _need_ you..."

Greg grinned as he felt his cock twitch back into life, swiftly rolling his body, pinning Mycroft to the mattress with ease. Not that he was resisting, oh no. His long body continued to undulate, brushing against Greg with increasing urgency. Greg shook his head and moved to kneel beside him.

"God, pet. You're a menace." He took the chain from around his neck and bent to unlock Mycroft's prick. "Since we've already broken your streak, we might as well set you free, don't you think?" Mycroft smiled faintly and twirled his hand in a little get-on-with-it gesture.

Once the device was removed and set to the side, it was but the work of moments for Gregory to stroke him to fullness. Mycroft moaned as the hot blood rushed into him, filling his cock to aching for the first time in over three weeks.

"Feel good, pet?"

Mycroft threw Greg a scathing glare. "That is a truly asinine question, Gregory." He hissed as Greg twisted his wrist viciously and tugged on his bollocks with just a bit more pressure than was entirely comfortable. "Well, it was!" He moaned again as Greg bent down to place fluttering little kisses on his chest and belly. "Everything you do to me feels good." Mycroft sighed deeply. _"Everything."_

Greg chuckled and leant over to give him a healthy bite on his side, that tender spot just under the ribs. Mycroft jumped and squealed. Before Greg could ask - "Yes, even that, you dreadful creature. Because it's _you_ , Gregory."

Greg stopped stroking and clambered onto his pet, sitting astride his hips as he smiled lazily and reached out a hand. Greg threw his head back as Mycroft deftly manipulated his flesh, kindling its mild interest into one of full awareness.

"Why don't you scoot up a bit closer?" Mycroft licked his lips, eyeing Greg's cock hungrily.

"I thought you wanted me to fill you up again, you tart." 

Mycroft shrugged idly. "I'll have you any way I can get you, Gregory."

"No, I'm not done with that fine arse of yours." Greg thrust slowly into Mycroft's hand, rolling his hips languidly. "I want you to ride me, pet. I want to see your face when you come for me this time. I want that evidence all over my hand and body."  
   
Mycroft shuddered and he moaned low before releasing his grip. "Then perhaps our positions should be reversed?"  
   
Greg grinned as he scrambled off and settled himself on his back. "One of these days, I'm gonna get you to smack my arse and say, 'Roll over, bitch'."  
   
 _"Gregory!"_ Mycroft's tone was scandalised, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. "I would never debase you in such a manner."  
   
"Not even if I told you to?"  
   
Mycroft raised himself up on his knees. "Well, that's a different matter altogether, isn't it?" He cocked his head to the side primly and watched his own fingers trail along Greg's body, his touch light, almost nonexistent.  
   
Greg shivered and moaned. "No teasing, pet. I've waited long enough, don't you think?" Mycroft's mouth quirked up slightly as he reached for a fresh condom and the lube, making quick work of sheathing Greg's cock and slicking it up liberally. He swung one long leg over Greg's hips and straddled him, reaching behind to line him up. Mycroft sighed and Greg moaned as he slid down onto him slowly, carefully. "Why, Mycroft? Why did I have to wait so long?"  
   
Mycroft's breath hitched as he settled himself, rocking back and forth slightly. "You didn't have to wait, Gregory. I told you 'anything' and I meant it. You could have had this whenever you wanted it."  
   
Greg growled, grabbing Mycroft's hips and thrusting up hard once - just once, just to hear Mycroft cry out. "I wanted this from the beginning. You weren't ready."  
   
"Didn't matter." Mycroft rocked again, raising himself up and then sinking back down with a moan. "I don't matter. You, Gregory. It's all for you, and you could have taken it, could have taken _me_ as you wished."  
   
"Stop." Greg's grip on his body was suddenly painful, his fingers like steel as they dug into his flesh. Mycroft gasped and stopped moving, his grey eyes huge as they fixed on Greg's face. " _Never_. Never say that you don't matter. I will not tolerate that kind of thinking, Mycroft. You are not here simply to serve me. You are not some nameless fucktoy. Yes, you have given yourself to me and I will take from you what I want. But do not think for one second that means that I won't give you what you need. You matter, Mycroft. You matter _so fucking much_." Greg's hands flexed, loosening in their tight hold, but his eyes refused to let Mycroft go. "Do you understand, pet?"  
   
Mycroft bit his lip and nodded mutely, unable to trust his voice. He rocked his hips tentatively, running his hands from Greg's belly to his chest, petting him firmly in an attempt to get him to relax again. Greg's eyes suddenly rolled back as Mycroft played with his nipples, rolling them between his fingers gently. With a quiet sigh and low moan, he planted his feet on the bed and Mycroft leant back slightly, bracing himself against Greg's thighs as he moved, striving for that sweet spot.  
   
Greg angled his hips minutely, and grinned fiercely when Mycroft cried out, indicating that he had found the spot he had been seeking. "Yes, pet. Oh, yes." He thrust up into Mycroft's tight wet heat, meeting his movements, jolting his body upwards. When an acceptable rhythm had been set, Greg trailed one hand from Mycroft's hip to his cock, fisting it gently, smiling when Mycroft threw his head back and moaned beautifully. His pet began to accentuate his downward motion with a slight forward roll of his hips, adding a little grind and twist. Greg groaned and tightened his fist, stroking faster. "Fuck, _yes_. Just like that, pet. Jesus, you feel amazing. You're fucking _gorgeous_."  
   
"Gre - I, I... Oh, God...good fucking _God._ " Mycroft's head dropped forward and he clutched hard at Greg's arm as he came, his stomach twitching and quivering with every spurt through Greg's fingers, covering his hand and striping his belly. Greg gentled his thrusts through Mycroft's orgasm, carrying him past the peak and into the minor tremors of his aftershocks as he came back down. Mycroft panted quietly, his eyes going wide as Greg brought his fingers to his mouth, licking up his release.  
   
Greg's eyes fluttered at the taste and he moaned before grabbing at Mycroft's hips again, spreading his thighs and bracing his legs even further. Mycroft leant forward slightly as Greg snapped his hips up viciously, driving into him harder and harder. " _Fuck_ , pet. So tight. So good."  
   
Mycroft reached out, caressing Greg's face and neck as his body jerked and jolted. _"Gregory..."_ He clenched down, and was rewarded by a long, drawn-out groan as Greg thrust in deep and stayed there, pulling Mycroft down onto him as hard as he could. Mycroft watched with delight as the muscles in Greg's arms and belly tensed and shuddered, wishing that he was bare so he could feel him pulsing deep inside.  
   
Greg's body relaxed by degrees, and he opened his eyes to see Mycroft staring at him intensely. "You are a - wonder, Gregory." With that said, he carefully climbed off of him and gathered up the used condom, taking it with him into the toilet to dispose of. He was back a moment later with a warm damp cloth, wiping away all traces of their encounter. He returned the flannel to the toilet and then slipped back into the bed, kneeling by Greg's side.  
   
 _"Pet."_ Greg's quiet rumble held an enquiry and a demand all at once, and Mycroft felt something twinge deep inside as he stretched out next to him, resting his head on his chest, draping an arm over his stomach. Greg sighed contentedly. "Better." He stroked Mycroft's back aimlessly. "Tell me why I waited."  
   
"Because you knew I was not ready, Gregory. I needed time. I needed to be able to trust you completely. You knew. Because you are remarkable."  
   
"No. It was just recognition, Mycroft. You had that look about you - that look that I saw all too often in my PC days, from DV cases. There was nothing remarkable in it."  
   
"I disagree."  
   
"You're free to do so. Can you tell me about it?"  
   
Mycroft took in a breath and held it for a few seconds before letting it out in a rush. "Not yet, Gregory. I am sorry." Greg's arm tightened around him briefly. "But I do believe it will be soon."  
   
"Soon, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet little conference between brothers...

When Mycroft had recovered sufficiently, he slipped from Greg's side once again and headed back to the toilet. There he washed and dried himself thoroughly, coming out to find Greg sitting on the edge of the bed, rolling the cock-cage in his fingers with a pensive air. Mycroft stood before him with knees that trembled only slightly as Gregory locked him back up again, trailing his fingers down Mycroft's flank and along the back of his long, creamy thighs.  
   
"Pet..."  
   
"I know, Gregory - I too. I wish I could stay, very much. But there are rules, and we must abide by them." He stepped away from Greg reluctantly, and went to re-dress. Greg simply slipped his pants back on and then sat on the bed, his back to the headboard. When Mycroft was all put back together, he came and sat on the bed sideways, facing Greg, leaning forward until their foreheads were touching, sighing as his lover put a hand to the back of his neck and squeezed gently. "Tonight was... You have surpassed all my wildest imaginings, Gregory. I haven't the words. Thank you for - for..."  
   
"What, pet?"  
   
"For being _you_." He pressed a gentle kiss to Greg's lips, to his brow, before leaving, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. He stood there on the landing for long moments, fighting the urge to rush back into the room and into his lover's arms. Sighing, he took his mobile from his pocket and texted his driver. Lifting his eyes, Mycroft noticed John standing on the landing by the sitting room door.   
   
He was clad in loose pyjama bottoms and a tatty vest, neither of the well-worn and baggy garments doing a thing to conceal the tight, golden body underneath. Mycroft swallowed as John's eyes travelled the length of his body. He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin before heading down the stairs, squeezing past him on the landing. John's head turned as he passed, his nostrils flaring slightly.  
   
"John." Mycroft's curt greeting seemed to spur the smaller man into some kind of action, as Mycroft found himself suddenly pressed up against the opposite wall. He stood frozen, eyes wide, as John went up on tip-toe and nosed along his jawline, down his throat and then even further down, crouching slightly as he seemed to sniff at Mycroft's crotch like some sort of animal.  
   
John came back up slowly, his pupils blown wide. "You smell like him." Mycroft pressed further against the wall, completely at odds with how to behave in this situation. He couldn't think, he could barely _breathe_. John's hand came up, and his thumb traced along Mycroft's bottom lip. "Well done." He smiled lazily and then turned away, stepping away just enough to give Mycroft a clear view of the erection that was nudging at his pyjama bottoms. The smaller man winked and then headed upstairs.  
   
Mycroft took a moment to collect himself, his shoulders sagging and breath erratic. Once he thought he had composed himself sufficiently, he turned to head down the second set of stairs and came up short yet again, as he caught sight of Sherlock peering up at him. Mycroft felt his heart stop momentarily, and then jolt back into action. He didn't expect to have to run through this kind of gauntlet this evening, and it was beginning to play havoc with his nervous system.  
   
Mycroft felt his right hand twitch as he looked down at his baby brother. He clenched it into a fist and then went down to meet him. "How much did you see?"  
   
"All of it, naturally." Sherlock cocked his head with a minute smirk on his lips.  
   
Mycroft sighed. "Of course. So you know that I did not instigate any of that - _behaviour_."  
   
Sherlock nodded, a faint gleam of amusement in his eyes. "Not that you haven't wanted to." He reached out suddenly, putting a hand to his brother's cheek, tracing the arch of his brow with his thumb, running it lightly down and under his eye. Sherlock leant in and pressed a warm kiss to Mycroft's cheek.   
   
Mycroft blinked furiously. "Have you all gone mad tonight?" Sherlock frowned and tilted his head. "The - touching, and the sniffing. Good God, John just  _sniffed_ me! What the hell is going on?"  
   
Sherlock chuckled and shrugged. "We're both connoisseurs of Greg's work, that's all. There's no mistaking that extremely well-fucked look, brother dear." Sherlock caressed his cheek again. "He is a marvel, isn't he?"  
   
Mycroft felt the blood rush into his cheeks and he nodded jerkily. "Indeed. You and John are very lucky."  
   
"Was it luck, though?" Mycroft cocked his head, unconsciously leaning into Sherlock's touch. "All of those unnecessary trips that you were sending me off on a few months ago - that was for their benefit, wasn't it? Giving them time to establish their relationship before it was revealed to me. Giving me the space to see how much I needed them - both of them. But it goes back even further than that, doesn't it, brother mine? How far, exactly?"  
   
Mycroft nodded gently and straightened his shoulders. "When I first saw how taken you were with Gregory, even though you refused to admit it to yourself. You turned to him in your time of need, and it was then that I knew he was the key to your salvation."  
   
"And when was it that you realised that you wanted him for your own?"  
   
Mycroft blinked, cool grey eyes searching his brother's face. "Our first meeting."  
   
Sherlock huffed out a quiet laugh. "Of course. But you didn't offer yourself to him then - why not?"  
   
"I wanted him, but you needed him. If you had thought for one moment that I was involved, you would have rejected his assistance."  
   
Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "And yet you became involved anyway, hauling me away to that - that _facility_."  
   
Mycroft raised his arm, cupping Sherlock's hand to his face and nuzzling into it slightly. "Because he asked me to, Sherlock. Begged me, in fact. In the end, even his love for you was not enough to make you well. You nearly broke him, brother. You would do well to remember that."  
   
Sherlock felt a deep flash of anger at Mycroft's words, but it quickly dissipated. After all, he did not mean to be harsh - merely truthful. Sherlock's shoulders sagged and he suddenly leant forward, wrapping his arms around his older brother and tucking his face into his neck. Mycroft sighed deeply, returning his embrace tenderly. "Thank you, Mycroft. For not taking him from me."  
   
"Sherlock, my dear. I wouldn't dream of it. And I must thank you for agreeing to this arrangement."  
   
They stood in silence for a long moment, Mycroft humming tunelessly as he rocked their bodies together gently. Sherlock took in a deep breath. "You're wrong, you know."  
   
Mycroft pulled away slightly. "I am very rarely wrong, Sherlock. To what are you referring, exactly?"  
   
"You do deserve to be happy. I don't know what kind of penance you thought you were performing by staying with that idiot Josef, but it was completely unnecessary. Don't ever do that to yourself again." Sherlock squeezed Mycroft's middle tightly. "Never again."  
   
"I - well. We shall have to see, won't we?"  
   
"No. _Never again_. I mean it, Mycroft. I almost went after him, you know. At Mummy's birthday celebration, when you walked in, I knew how wounded you were. I saw exactly what he had done to you."  
   
"Of course you did. I do appreciate that you left the situation alone, Sherlock. It's over now."  
   
Sherlock huffed impatiently. "It isn't for him. Don't tell me that he's stopped calling or writing those infernal letters."  
   
Mycroft sighed. "I don't answer those calls, and the letters go straight into the bin. He hasn't a chance in Hell of getting me to meet him again."  
   
"That isn't true." Sherlock released him and stepped back. "You have one of those wretched diplomatic affairs coming up, don't you? He'll be there, and he'll find a way to get you on your own." Sherlock tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Take Greg with you. If Josef sees that you're involved, he'll back off. He's a coward that way. And Greg can be surprisingly intimidating when he wants to be." Sherlock's eyes glossed over temporarily. "I almost wish I could see it."  
   
Mycroft quirked an eyebrow. "You - wish for me to take your partner to a formal dinner. Gregory and myself, alone. As in a date."  
   
Sherlock scoffed. "I want that idiot to stop contacting you, and Greg is the way to make that happen. I'm _sharing_ , Mycroft. Isn't that what brothers are supposed to do? Besides, you'd have to have him fitted for a tuxedo, and I know that would thrill John beyond belief."  
   
Mycroft smiled slowly. "Oh? And you wouldn't be as equally thrilled?" Sherlock blushed faintly. "Always an ulterior motive. Very well, Sherlock. I will ask him."

"Don't tell him it was my idea, and don't tell him that Josef will undoubtedly be there. If he has time to prepare himself, his response will be tempered, and we don't want that." Sherlock cocked his head. "How much have you told him?"

"No details as of yet. But he has deduced a great deal."

Sherlock smiled proudly before sobering. "You should tell him, Mycroft. Tell him everything." He took Mycroft's right hand and traced his thumb along the barely visible scar on his pinkie. "It's crooked."

"That's how it healed, unfortunately. They would have to break it again to straighten it out, and it's just a pinkie finger, for God's sake." Mycroft swallowed. "I will tell him. Just - not yet. I'm not ready."

Sherlock looked him over carefully. "It's probably best not to tell him before the gathering anyway. We want Josef scurrying away with his tail between his legs, not cold on a slab at Bart's morgue." He tapped his chin again. "Or perhaps we do..."

Mycroft smiled faintly even as he gave Sherlock a playful shove. "I'll not have Gregory turned into a murderer on my account."

"It wouldn't be murder. More like - pest control."

"Sherlock..."

"Ugh. _Fine._ No dead Swedish diplomats."

"I do so appreciate your restraint." Mycroft glanced up the stairs with a faint grin. "Perhaps you should go join in on the fun?"  
   
Sherlock smiled wickedly and squeezed Mycroft's hand briefly before releasing him and heading up the stairs. "Good night, brother dear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heading out to the Palace for a little light dining...

Greg stood in the sitting room of 221B and fidgeted. Sherlock sat in his customary armchair and smirked, mostly at John, who was perched on the edge of the sofa, his mouth hanging slack.

Greg bit his lip and turned back to the mirror hanging above the fireplace. " _God_ , I look - " He ran a nervous hand through his hair, making it stick up in random silver spikes.

Sherlock 'tsk'ed as he stood to flatten out Greg's hair yet again, resting his hands on Greg's shoulders and locking their gazes together in the mirror. "You look exquisite, Greg." He chuckled throatily. "You've rendered John completely incapable of rational thought. Just look at him."

Sherlock gently manoeuvred Greg into turning, and they both looked down at the smaller man, who did seem nearly catatonic. Greg huffed out a quiet laugh, and John blinked rapidly, shutting his mouth with an audible snap.

"Sorry, love. You just look - _unf_." His slate-blue eyes blazed as he looked Greg up and down. "I'm finding it a little difficult to, um - concentrate. Yeah." Greg's lips quirked and he tweaked his bow tie, grinning widely as John moaned under his breath and wriggled in his seat. "Or control myself. Wouldn't do to rumple the tux... At least not until Mycroft is done with you."

Greg sighed and bit his lip again. "I'm going to look an utter fool. Room full of 'minor government officials' and me. I'm gonna say something stupid and start a war, I just know it."

"Gregory, you'll do no such thing." Mycroft stood in the doorway, looking quite resplendent in a well-fitted tuxedo of his own. "You should give yourself more credit."  
   
Sherlock's hands tightened on Greg's shoulders briefly. He had long ago accepted the relationship that existed between his lover and his brother, but he still had flashes of irrational anger when Mycroft oh-so-casually invaded his living space. Mycroft's eyebrow quirked at his little brother's pinched expression. "Come, Gregory. We mustn't be late."

Sherlock glared and then bent his head to lay a gentle kiss behind Greg's ear. "Go on, then. John and I will eagerly await your return." He smirked. "John especially, I think."

Greg turned a sideways glance toward the sofa, at John's flushed face. He grinned and stalked toward him, laughing darkly at John's quiet _'Eep'_ as he hastily stuffed his hands under his bum to prevent himself from reaching out and grabbing at the lapels of Greg's tux.

Greg tipped John's head back with one finger under his chin and kissed him deeply, revelling as he felt his body go completely limp. Greg pulled back and John opened his eyes languidly, his pupils blown completely wide with desire.

"Too bad it has to go back." John's voice had dropped a register, and Greg shivered at the sound of it. "We could play 007."

Greg chuckled quietly, even as Mycroft took a couple of steps into the room. "John. Do you really think I would outfit Gregory in a _rented_ tuxedo?" Mycroft's mouth was turned down in distaste.

John swallowed visibly even as his eyes lit up with delight. _"Ooh."_

Mycroft glanced between John and Sherlock. "I'd like to thank you both for allowing me to borrow Gregory for the evening. Shall we, then?"

"Yes, of course." Greg turned in the doorway and grinned at his lovers, John's body already pressed up against Sherlock desperately. "Don't break anything. Or any _body_." Halfway down the stairs, he heard the solid thump of Sherlock's body hitting the sitting room floor. Shaking his head with a small smirk, he followed Mycroft out to the limo that was idling at the kerb.  
   
Greg carefully unbuttoned his jacket before climbing into the back, nodding at the driver as he closed the door behind him. He settled back with a sigh.

"You look stunning, Gregory."

"Thank you, pet. You're quite the picture yourself. Of course, you're much more used to this sort of thing. I've only ever worn something like this once before, and that was very much a rental. Kept riding up on me. Doesn't make for a very nice wedding photo when the groom's bollocks are constantly being pinched."

Mycroft snorted delicately as Greg fussed with his cuffs and adjusted his bow tie, jiggling his fingers on his knee and bouncing his feet on the floor. Mycroft slid across the expanse of the back seat and ran a soothing hand down the inside of Greg's thigh. "Please try not to worry quite so much, Gregory. You'll be just fine."

"Huh. Says you. I'm not exactly couth, Mycroft." Greg turned slightly. "Why do you want me at this thing, anyway?"

Mycroft sighed as he thought back to a quiet conversation between brothers, just a fortnight before. "I did not want to be the only one without a companion. I suppose that I could have called upon a colleague to join me, but, well - I rather wanted to spend the evening with you."

Greg blinked at him and then pulled him in for a kiss. "I'm honoured, pet. So this is a date, then. With a bunch of highly influential and potentially volatile diplomats." He started fidgeting again.

Mycroft suddenly threw his leg over Greg's lap, straddling him. Greg's incessant twitching stopped and he breathed Mycroft's scent in deeply. (Flowering bergamot, raw silk and ink.) Mycroft settled in close, deliberately grinding his groin into Greg's belly. This close, he could feel the solid metal of the device that Mycroft was wearing, even through the multiple layers of clothing. Greg shivered, already aroused merely by the thought of the cock-cage, and the key to it that he held.

"Pet, you're going to wrinkle our outfits."

"You're too tense, Gregory." He ground again, leaning in to lick at Greg's ear. "Please allow me to, ah - relieve that tension for you." He drew back and looked at Greg from underneath pale red lashes. "Please," he purred.

Greg grinned and nodded silently, knowing that a quick blowjob would be as much of a tension reliever for Mycroft as it would be for him. Greg was quite certain that his pet would love nothing more than to spend an entire night sucking him to completion just to tease his cock back into life so he could suck him again and again. The man truly seemed to love nothing more than feeling that thick flesh against his tongue, from the noises he'd make while he was at it. Or maybe it was just Greg that did that to him? Silly thought, that. They were the same age, it was foolish of him to think that Mycroft hadn't felt this way about someone before him. Stupid, actually. _You really are a romantic idiot, aren't you?_ Not that their situation was one you'd find in any of the standard romance pap that was out there...

Greg was shaken out of his reverie as Mycroft moaned low in his throat, running an elegant hand down the front of Greg's body as he slid to his knees in the back of the limo. He hastily popped the button and drew down the zip on Greg's trousers, reaching inside his pants to pull out his fully erect cock. Mycroft sighed with delight and ran his thumb down the slit, along the underside, to his bollocks. He tugged those out as well, rolling them in his fingers as he lowered his mouth to the head of Greg's cock and slowly drew it all the way inside.

Greg's head fell back against the seat and he groaned. Nearly two months and he _still_ wasn't used to his pet's lack of a gag reflex. He put his hands to the back of Mycroft's head, taking care not to ruffle his hair too badly. A delicate flutter of tongue, a soft slurp, a heady muffled moan and Greg could only slide down a little further in the seat, giving his hips room to move. And move them he did, driving his cock into Mycroft's throat, slowly but steadily. Mycroft swallowed, making Greg's body shudder around and in him.

God, he _loved_ this. Knowing that Gregory was taking his pleasure from him, that nobody else could offer him this - sweet and utter surrender. Gregory's grip tightened on his head, his movements becoming sharper and more urgent and Mycroft hummed against his hard flesh. There was a quiet curse before Greg went rigid underneath him and he came straight down Mycroft's throat, clutching his head to his groin so firmly that Mycroft's nose was buried in Greg's pubic hair.

He released him with a soft sigh, and Mycroft hastily sucked in breath. "Oh, Jesus, pet - I'm sorry."

"No, Gregory. You were magnificent." Mycroft looked up at him coquettishly. "As always."

Greg's quiet laugh rumbled through the back of the limo as Mycroft pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his mouth. He delicately dabbed away any extra mess from Greg's cock and then tucked him away again before resuming his seat.

"Feeling a little less tense, then?"

Greg laughed again. "Yes, pet. You knew just what I needed, didn't you?" He reached out to grasp Mycroft's hand. Greg hesitated, and then squeezed. "Is this going to be a problem? I mean, well - "

Mycroft smiled gently. "I would advise against any truly graphic displays of affection, but only because it's rather gauche. Incidental contact such as this will hardly register, and nobody will be rude enough to call attention to themselves by objecting. We will not be the only same-sex pair at the event."

"Good. That's good. You're gonna be my lifeline in there, y'know."  
   
"Gregory, I'm quite sure you will handle yourself with aplomb. Do stop fretting."  
   
Greg sighed and then grinned wickedly. "I'm not sure, pet. Maybe I need you to go down on me again..."  
   
Mycroft tutted and tried rather unsuccessfully to hide his pleased grin. "You are incorrigible."  
   
Greg's own smile faltered slightly as the limo came to a stop. He waited until the door opened and then stepped out, re-buttoning his jacket and looking up at the Palace. It was quite the sight, as it was all lit up for the occasion. Mycroft turned him around and smoothed his hands down Greg's lapels.  
   
He sighed. "You are _perfection_ , Gregory."  
   
Greg winked at him and crooked his left arm. He held it out to Mycroft. "Thank you, pet. Shall we?"  
   
Mycroft smiled shyly and took Greg's arm, leading him into the Palace. Greg had to concentrate in order not to get distracted by his surroundings. The sheer opulence of the place left him absolutely flustered.  
   
"Have you never been to the Palace, Gregory?"  
   
"On tours and whatnot, sure. Not like this." His neck craned as he tried to peek into yet another drawing-room, full of overstuffed chairs and gilt-edged furnishings. "Just how many rooms do you need, fer Christ's sake?"  
   
Mycroft chuckled. "As many as it takes, my dear." He patted Greg's arm. "And here we are. The dining hall."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ex is spotted, and Mycroft introduces an old friend...

A low murmur greeted them as they walked in, dozens of voices all blending into one another and the sound of glasses clinking companionably. 'Minor government officials' and their respective partners were mingling, all with drinks in hand, being introduced or getting re-acquainted. Mycroft led Greg to a bar in the corner and fetched them both a Scotch.  
   
Greg sipped at it delicately and hummed appreciatively. "Smooth."  
   
"Of course." Mycroft smiled toothily as he surveyed the crowd.  
   
"How often are these events held?"  
   
"We try for once a year, but as you can imagine, it can be rather difficult to get everybody in one place at any given moment." Greg watched with a small amount of amusement as Mycroft's eyes jumped from person to person, and felt him suddenly stiffen at his side.  
   
He followed Mycroft's gaze and found himself looking at a pale blond man, about Greg's own height. He was attractive, but in an oddly mediocre way, almost as if somebody had assembled him based on some arbitrary checklist. Full wavy hair, check. Crystal blue eyes, check. Small but perfectly straight nose, check. And so on. Perhaps he could be thought attractive to some, but Greg looked him up and down and just thought he looked boring. And cold. Then something clicked in his head.  
   
" _Ah_. The ex. Sorry, pet - I didn't even think to ask."  
   
"No, Gregory. That's quite all right." Mycroft pressed a little closer to his side, and Greg blinked at him, feeling the unmistakeable tension that was present in his body.  
   
"Mycroft. Should I be keeping an eye on this man?" The red-haired man stared at Greg, his expression unreadable. "You're clearly uncomfortable, pet. And it's more than just a bad break-up." He ran a hand down Mycroft's back soothingly and spoke in a warm undertone. "What had he done to you?"  
   
Mycroft blinked rapidly, fighting back a sudden influx of emotion. He swallowed and straightened his shoulders, shedding his embarrassing fugue with a bit of difficulty. "I - _not here_ , please. I'll be fine, Gregory. Thank you for your - concern."  
   
"It's more than just concern, pet." Mycroft quirked an eyebrow and Greg sighed heavily. "Look. I'm more than aware that you are a grown man, and are perfectly capable of looking after yourself. But." He leant into Mycroft's ear, brushing their cheeks together lightly. "You are _mine_ now, and I will defend and protect what is mine. Do not hesitate to call on me. For anything. Is that understood?"  
   
Greg pulled back and noted the bright spots of colour that had bloomed high on Mycroft's cheeks with satisfaction. "I understand, Gregory." His voice was breathy. "Thank you."

"And perhaps you'll tell me the tale?"

Mycroft smiled faintly. "Perhaps."

"It might be nice to know why I'm so angry at a complete stranger."  
   
Mycroft's cool grey eyes surveyed Greg carefully. "You conceal it very well."

"Have to, don't I. Not exactly on to go all caveman at some swank diplomatic function."

He took Mycroft's hand and squeezed once before letting go. Mycroft winced ever-so-slightly. It wasn't that Gregory had hurt him, but just that brief bit of contact had shown him the utter truth of his statement. His face was open, his chocolate brown eyes kind, but his fingers were like iron cables, stiff with tension and anger. The disconnect between Gregory's outward manner and his inner state of mind threw Mycroft off balance, as he found it rather disconcerting, and more than a bit frightening. It was also very, _very_ thrilling.

Mycroft nodded curtly, shaking off the arousal that had rushed through his belly. His eyes flickered to something over Greg's shoulder and the tension in his body fell away, his grey eyes lightening as he spied a familiar figure. "Ah. Now, there is someone I would very much like you to meet, Gregory."  
   
The man currently striding rapidly across the hall was small and dark, perhaps fifteen years or so older than Mycroft. He was smiling broadly, his teeth very white against rather red lush lips. He held out both hands to Mycroft and they leant into each other, kissing either cheek in European style.  
   
"Luiz. So good to see you again."  
   
"Mycroft, meu menino. It has been far too long, sim?"  
   
"Indeed. I'd like you to meet Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, of New Scotland Yard."  
   
Luiz's bright black eyes scrutinised Greg carefully and he could practically feel the weight of them, measuring him, judging him thoroughly. Apparently, he was deemed worthy, as the broad smile returned and the eyes started to twinkle merrily. "Ah. So very pleased. I am Luiz Gustavo Caldeira de Nunes, of Brasil." He turned back to Mycroft briefly. "He is muito bonito. So much better than the previous." Mycroft blushed as Luiz took both of Greg's hands in his and squeezed gently. "The other - too bastante. I told you that he was not to be trusted, and I was correct, sim?"  
   
"Sim, Luiz. I will be sure to heed your advice from now on."  
   
Luiz winked at Greg, still holding on to his hand as his thumbs stroked his skin with a maddeningly light touch, and Greg felt himself give a little shiver. He grinned down at the little man.  
   
"Yes - this one. _This_ one you will hold on to."  
   
Mycroft eyed their clasped hands and cleared his throat, taking Greg's arm. "I fully intend to, Luiz. Perhaps we should find your charming wife and take our seats?"  
   
Luiz laughed delightedly at Mycroft's slightly icy tone. "Sim, sim, of course." He released Greg's hands.  
   
Greg promptly held out his free arm to Luiz. "Shall we, gentlemen?" Luiz laughed again and took the proffered arm eagerly. Mycroft scowled as Greg turned to kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear. "I do so _love_ when a Holmes goes all green-eyed. Lead the way, pet."

Mycroft led them to four empty seats, and Greg held out one of the chairs for him. As he scooted the chair under his bum, Mycroft turned his head and smiled up at him. "So gallant, Gregory." Greg winked before taking his own seat.

Luiz remained standing, scanning the room for his wife. "Vitoria, she is always with the chatting and flirting. Always distracted, that one. Ah." The woman who was slinking in their direction was a good foot taller than her husband and perhaps twenty-five years younger. Greg stood hastily as she approached and Mycroft followed suit, albeit a little less quickly.

Her skin was caramel-coloured, her eyes a warm brown, hair thick and black, hanging loose and straight just past her shoulders. The dress she wore was bright red, a striking tone against her dark skin, perhaps just a bit too short and definitely too tight for propriety. Her eyes crinkled slightly as she smiled at her husband and his two companions. She bent down to give her husband a kiss and then went directly to Mycroft, enveloping him in an embrace.

"Ah, Mycroft. It has been too long. My husband, he talks of you all the time. 'Meu menino', he says. 'I wonder how he is, I worry.' All the time." She pinched Mycroft's cheek, his mortified expression causing Greg to nearly choke on his laughter, hiding his guffaws behind the back of one hand. "You should call more often. Do not make him worry." She turned to Greg, eyeing him appraisingly. "Ah. This is your new lover?"

Mycroft stammered uneasily and blushed a very becoming shade of pink as Greg laughed again, holding out his hand to her. "Gregory Lestrade." She placed her hand in his and cocked her head to the side as Greg raised it to his mouth, brushing his lips across her knuckles gently. "So very pleased to meet you."

_"Mm."_ She leant in to press a kiss against his cheek. She smelled of vanilla and cinnamon, and Greg found himself breathing her in deeply. "Vitoria. The pleasure, it is all mine." Greg released her hand as she stepped back and took the seat that her husband was holding out for her.

Once she was settled, the three men took their seats once again. Mycroft huffed almost imperceptibly as he scooted his chair forward, but he was not quite silent enough. Greg instantly turned his torso toward him, running his hand along his thigh under the tablecloth, leaning in to put his mouth to Mycroft's ear before moving his hand up just a little more, tapping against the device. "Behave yourself, pet. A little jealousy is all well and good, but isn't the whole point of the evening to make friends? To schmooze?"

Greg pulled back slightly, noting the faint blush lingering on Mycroft's cheeks and his obviously dilated pupils. He swallowed and spoke in an undertone. "Gregory, you are correct, of course. I  - I apologise for my appalling behaviour."

"Very good, pet." Greg settled back once more and turned to Luiz, who had seated himself next to him. "Luiz, how is it that you know Mycroft so well?"

Luiz smiled again. "We first met at one of these infernal dinners. Over twenty years ago, sim?" Mycroft nodded silently. "He was so young, I could see that he was new, so very nervous. I took him under my wing, pobre passarinho that he was."  
   
"You mentored him."

"Sim. And came to care for him. As my own, he is." Luiz dug a sharp elbow into Greg's ribs. "Just like my own - does not call, does not write!" Greg chuckled along with the little man. "Perhaps, Gregory, perhaps you will encourage him keep in touch, sim?"

Greg glanced at Mycroft, whose attention had been distracted by the man seated on his opposite side. He turned back to his new companion and winked at him conspiratorially. "Definitely, Luiz. I will make sure he does."

Luiz blinked up at him solemnly. "He forgets sometimes. That he is loved, cared for. He needs to be reminded, sim?" Greg cleared his throat and fidgeted. " _Ah_. But you are still new yet."

"Only two months, yeah."

"Then you are not ready. It is good, to be sure." His bright black eyes slid over Greg's face, his smile turning soft as the silver-haired man blushed under his scrutiny. "I think that, perhaps - you do, but sim, be _sure_."

"Sim, Luiz." Greg sat back as the starters were served. Conversation from there flowed to other topics, although it mainly focused around football. Luiz was quite enthusiastic about the subject, and managed to bring one or two others into the discussion. Greg noted with amusement that they all seemed to be from one South American country or another.  
   
He tried to take his cues from Mycroft as far as dining etiquette was concerned, watching him carefully to see which blasted fork was the correct one for each different course. All in all, by the time it was over, or nearly so, Greg felt that he had done fairly well, but the end of the meal was met with great relief for the Detective Inspector.

Now it was on to after-dinner drinks and some more mingling. Mycroft went off on his own for a bit, no doubt to conduct some illicit business or other. Luiz sensed Greg's hesitation and so kept to his side, introducing him as "Gregory, Mycroft's companion" to whomever happened by. He also struck up the football conversation again, which seemed to attract many more members of the contingent now that they could gather together. It quickly grew a bit heated, and Greg could only stand there and shake his head, as most of the 'discussion' was being held in varying dialects of Spanish and Portuguese. He could only pick out about one word in every dozen, but the passion of the speakers held him enthralled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the curious - a couple translations
> 
> Meu menino = my boy  
> sim = yes  
> muito bonito = very handsome  
> bastante = pretty  
> pobre passarinho = poor little bird
> 
> I think that's all there was, and if there are native speakers out there, and something is wrong, please feel free to correct me! :)
> 
> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation...

After a while had gone by, Greg began to wonder about Mycroft's continued absence, and started scanning the room for his tell-tale red hair. He tried to be as unobtrusive as possible, but of course he couldn't escape the notice of the little man by his side. Luiz grasped Greg's arm and turned him slightly to the right, gesturing vaguely. "There, Gregory." Mycroft had somehow been neatly backed into a dimly lit corner by his ex, who seemed to be menacing him. "Meu menino - he does not look too pleased."

"No, Luiz, he does not." Greg didn't bother to hold back on the apparent anger in his voice. "If you will excuse me?"

"Sim, of course. Go and defend his honour. Kindly do not leave without making your farewells."

Without another word, but with a reassuring pat on the hand, Greg strode toward the partially-hidden corner. He made sure his steps were soft on the hardwood floor, hoping to overhear just what it was that was making Mycroft so uncomfortable.

"Mycroft. One night. This is all I ask of you. One night, and you will see. You belong with me. You should belong _to_ me."

The words themselves were enough to fan the flames of anger that were crackling in Greg's chest, but the look on his pet's face sent it into something truly white-hot, a heavy mass roiling uneasily in his belly. Mycroft was struggling to keep his face a cold mask, but a low-grade panic was clearly beginning to rise in his grey eyes.

"Josef. I've told you, quite a number of times now. We are _through_. Kindly stop initiating contact." Mycroft glanced down at the floor and then back up as Greg put a little more force into his last two steps, making sure his presence was known. The look of relief that washed over Mycroft's face was palpable, and his shoulders straightened immediately as he gave his lover a shaky smile.

Greg gave Mycroft a little nod as Josef turned. Greg immediately pressed the advantage of surprise, stepping into the blond man's personal space and extending his hand, nearly thrusting it in his direction. Josef had to take a step back in order to return the handshake, and Greg found himself smiling toothily. "Gregory Lestrade, Detective Inspector, New Scotland Yard."  
   
Josef glanced at Mycroft, who was now standing just behind and to the right of Greg, making it clear that he was in his company. "Josef Lofgren, of Sweden."

"Pleased to meet you." Greg glanced behind him, waiting for Mycroft's little nod of approval. It wouldn't do to go all caveman, but it wouldn't do to compromise his pet's position if there happened to be a scene, either. "I think."

Josef blinked in confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

Greg's smile grew sharper. "Yes. Do you know, I rather believe you will." He paused and looked back at Mycroft again before tilting his head in Josef's direction. "I couldn't help but notice that you were making my companion here rather uncomfortable, so I'm politely asking you to back off."

The diplomat's crystal blue eyes widened with sheer incredulity and his mouth dropped open in shock. "Mycroft! This - _this_ is who you refuse me for? He is _nobody_!" His voice held both a note of disdain and command, a tone that Mycroft seemed all too familiar with as he cringed away slightly. As Greg watched with concern, Mycroft's right hand twitched violently before he clenched it into a fist.

Greg turned back to the pale man and chuckled quietly, the anger in his eyes belying the gentle tone of his voice. "Oh, such a _little_ man you are." Josef sputtered incomprehensibly. "You think that because you wield a bit of political power, it makes you untouchable. But it doesn't." Greg stepped in even closer. "I know what you did."

"You know nothing."

"I know enough." And yes, there, there it was - a hint of uncertainty, the small smear of panic in those clear blue eyes. Oh, yes, that was what he had been waiting for. Greg smiled as Josef blanched under his gaze.

"Whatever you think you know, it does not matter. You can _do_ nothing. I have diplomatic immunity."

"Detective Inspector Lestrade can do nothing, perhaps. But I'd like you to consider something." He paused. "Surely you've heard of Mycroft's little brother?"

Josef sneered. "Sherlock Holmes? Yes, Mycroft introduced him to me a while ago. I found him to be terribly impertinent. Now he runs about like a damned fool with that funny-looking little man, solving so-called 'crimes' and generally causing trouble. What of him?"

Greg smiled again, all affable charm. "Sherlock, see, he likes to stick his nose where it doesn't belong. He loves nothing more than deducing people, finding out about the horrible things that they've done. And John... Well, John's an ex-soldier who sometimes gets a bit too wound up for anyone's good. Jumpy, too. Sometimes. I'm sure he'd absolutely _love_ that you called him both 'funny-looking' and 'little'."

Josef's eyes narrowed, an uncertain wariness settling into his features. Mycroft moved closer to Greg, slipping his hand into the crook of his arm. Greg leant in to the blond man, his face mere inches away. " _They're mine too_. Both of them." He gave Josef a moment to digest his words, and then another, waiting until the wariness crystallised into solid concern. "We're all like a happy, hungry little wolf pack, just waiting for somebody to make a mistake and fuck with us. So I'd like you to consider, my friend - and consider well - if I were to point them in your direction, what might they find?"

Greg straightened as Mycroft laid his head on his shoulder, nuzzling into Greg's arm as he eyed Josef with contempt. Josef's face burned bright red at the overt demonstration of affection, his lips pressing together hard as his eyes narrowed. Greg turned his head and laid a gentle but proprietary kiss on Mycroft's forehead, chuckling at Josef's muffled curse. "What do you think, pet?"

Another curse, and Josef's face turned yet another impossible shade of red, verging on purple. Mycroft smirked, thinking, _'Vermilion, perhaps. Yes, vermilion describes that shade quite well.'_

"I do believe they would find all kinds of unsavoury things, Gregory."

"So do I, pet. So do I. And I can't even imagine what they might do with the information once they found it. Sherlock can be quite protective, even if he is just the younger brother. Inventive, too... If he thought that you were in danger and he could do something to prevent it?"

Mycroft shook himself dramatically. "I shudder to think..."

"And John, well, he's terribly loyal, both to Sherlock and to myself. He'd do just about anything we asked, wouldn't he, pet?"

"Oh, absolutely, Gregory."

Greg turned back to Josef, appearing quite startled at his colour and demeanour. " _Oh my_. Breathe, my dear boy. Can't have you passing out before you receive your instructions." Josef snarled under his breath. "This is what's going to happen. No more calls, no more letters. Just no more. Get it? If there is legitimate business to be conducted, it will go through Anthea. Pet?"

"Oh, yes, Gregory. She is more than capable of handling Mr. Lofgren's business for me."

"Is that understood?" The Swedish diplomat gave a brusque nod, his clear blue eyes absolutely blazing with hatred. Greg shook his head and reached out to clasp Josef's chin firmly. "No, my boy.  _Say_ it."

"I understand. _Completely_." Turned into nothing more than a trapped cobra being neatly de-fanged, Josef fairly spit the words in Greg's direction.

Greg released him with a look of disgust. "Be on your way, then." Josef turned smartly and walked away, straight out of the hall and, apparently, out of Mycroft's life.

Mycroft sagged against Greg briefly. "My goodness, Gregory. I'm all a-flutter."

Greg chuckled and shook himself slightly as he felt the anger slowly draining away. He pressed his lips to Mycroft's forehead again, breathing in his scent deeply. "All a-what? What does that even mean, pet?" Greg closed his eyes briefly, still fighting to breathe evenly. Mycroft was here, he wasn't hurt. The threat had been eliminated. _'Stand down, you fool. Relax.'_ He shook himself again.

Mycroft straightened and squeezed Greg's arm, scanning his face intently. "It means, that were I less disciplined or perhaps a little more inebriated, I would pull down my pants right here and beg you to fuck me until I came screaming your name."

Greg blinked. "You said - I've never heard you use..."

"What, fuck? There is a time and a place, my dear Gregory, and right now, good Lord do I want you to fuck me senseless."

Greg cleared his throat and turned the full wattage of his trademark grin on his pet. "Well then. One condition."

_"Anything."_

"I need to know the whole story, Mycroft. I need to know what he did to you."

Mycroft swallowed and looked at Greg uncertainly, blinking rapidly before straightening his shoulders and nodding. "Agreed."  
   
"And is your clandestine business all settled for the evening?"  
   
Mycroft smirked. "Yes, Gregory."

"Then let's make our excuses."

Mycroft circled the room quickly, begging off for the remainder of the evening as not feeling too well. His colour certainly supported his claims, as his visage was rather peaked, even if the high spots of colour had not entirely left his cheeks. His eyes were perhaps a bit over-bright, and most of the people that he was making his farewells to urged him to get home and into bed as quickly as possible. Greg trailed a little behind, making sure that his pet didn't get himself into trouble again, promising the odd caring soul that he would indeed bundle Mycroft into bed straight away.  
   
When they had made their way back to Luiz, Greg was able to relax a bit more, taking comfort in the way that Mycroft's stiff posture loosened while around his friends. While Mycroft said goodbye to Vitoria, complimenting her on her rather saucy dress, Luiz and Greg exchanged information, promising to stay in touch, especially during the World Cup. Greg bent down to embrace the little man, who returned his hug with surprising strength.  
   
"See, you are good for him. Sim, very good. I thank you, Gregory, for looking out for meu menino. Do not hesitate, if you need something, you call."  
   
"Of course, Luiz." He turned to Vitoria as Mycroft bent down to Luiz to receive his own embrace. "Vitoria, it was lovely to meet you. So sorry we didn't get a chance to converse a little more."  
   
She waved an elegantly manicured hand in dismissal. "It is of no matter. You and Mycroft will visit. And your others. All your lovers, bring them as well. We have a very large house, many suites." Greg blinked at her. "Brasil, it is beautiful in the spring. You will visit, and make my silly husband very happy, yes?" She leant in to kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear. "Be good to him, Gregory. If you are not good to him, I will find you."  
   
Greg chuckled quietly as he returned her chaste kiss. "Don't worry, Vitoria. I have no intention of harming him. Ever."  
   
She pulled away and cocked her head, studying him. "I believe you. _Good_." With that, she took her husband's arm and led him back into the crowd.

Mycroft watched them go. "Daft old bugger."

Greg gave him a little shove. "He cares for you very much."

"The feeling is mutual." Mycroft smiled faintly. "She invited you to visit."

"She invited us all, I think. And threatened my life, more or less."

Mycroft's smile grew. "She doesn't have anything to worry about."

"No, pet. She doesn't."  
   
Greg held out his arm for Mycroft to grasp, and then they headed out of the hall. Mycroft once again had to take the lead, winding his way expertly through the labyrinthine hallways of the Palace to the exit. The limo was waiting, and Mycroft clambered into the back with Greg following closely behind.

They drove in silence for a few minutes before Greg cleared his throat quietly. "Any time you're ready, pet."

Mycroft threw him a shaky glance and shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Please, Gregory. Not here. It's just - I don't feel..."

"Safe. You need a safe space." Mycroft nodded, relief clear on his face. "Will Baker Street do, or should we go to yours?"

"Baker Street, please. There's no safer place, Gregory. With you and John... And Sherlock." Mycroft smiled faintly. "Safest place of all."

"All right, pet. All right." Greg sighed as he watched Mycroft's fingers twist and twine together. He reached out to put a hand to Mycroft's neck, wincing as he jumped at his touch. "Come here, pet." Greg gently pulled Mycroft down until his head was resting on his thigh. Mycroft pulled his legs up to his chest and lay huddled on the seat in a small bundle, relaxing only slightly as Greg ran his fingers through his hair in a steady rhythm. "It'll be all right, Mycroft."

"Can you promise me, Gregory? That everything will be all right?"

Greg smiled sadly. "That would be rather foolish of me, pet. The best that I can offer is that I will do all in my power to keep you safe. I believe I can help, if you let me." Mycroft's fingers gently traced Greg's kneecap as his lover continued to caress his soft red hair. They stayed like that until they reached Baker Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg finally hears Mycroft's story...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may not need to be said for the lovely folks that have been following, but I do wish to say that there is some mention of domestic violence and dubious/nonconsensual sexual activity in this chapter and perhaps in following chapters. 
> 
> Nothing exceedingly graphic, but still - be warned.
> 
> And as always, feedback is very much appreciated. It does so delight me to know that I'm touching fellow fans in some way. Thank you for being the wonderful creatures that you are. 
> 
> :)

Greg wasn't surprised to find the flat completely dark when they pulled up, even after Sherlock's insistence of their eagerness to see him return. After all, it had gone nearly two in the morning. He left Mycroft at the door to the sitting room briefly, checking in on John in the bedroom. He was pleasantly surprised to find that Sherlock had kept their mutual lover company, as he was curled around the smaller man protectively in his sleep. Greg grinned as he noted that they were both nude - they had most likely shagged the hell out of each other shortly after he left and then had passed out. Okay, so a certain ageing yet tuxedo-clad DI seemed to be an instant aphrodisiac for his two lovers. Handy information to have, that.

Greg was feeling a bit cocky when he stepped back out in the hallway, but that vanished instantly when he saw that it was empty. He felt a hollow chill in his chest at the thought that Mycroft had run away from him. Then he noticed the dim lamplight streaming down the stairs from the attic room and took in a heaving breath. Damn fool, to panic like that. Mycroft wouldn't run. Not from him.

He entered the room to find Mycroft working on loosening his bow tie, his jacket already discarded and hanging neatly in the wardrobe. "Pet, wait." Mycroft looked to him in confusion. "Don't worry about that just yet." Greg closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed, patting the mattress next to him. "Come sit down." Mycroft sat down next to him silently, his hands on his thighs, his gaze directed at the floor.

Greg moved in a little closer and wrapped an arm around Mycroft's waist, squeezing him gently. "I just need you to know. If we're going to continue - this - then yes, I need to know what happened with that man. But that doesn't mean I'm going to force you to tell me. If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to."

Mycroft blinked rapidly at the carpet, his head dropping forward slightly. "You aren't really giving me much of a choice, you know. It's either tell you, or give you up."

"Well, yes. I really don't mean to pressure you, pet. I understand all too well that there are many things in your life that you cannot share. But this - this is something that shouldn't remain a secret. I want to help you if I can, Mycroft."

Greg stood and toed off his shoes, giving his pet a little space and some time to consider as he removed his jacket and hung it next to Mycroft's. Standing at the wardrobe, he flipped open the laptop, making sure the camera wasn't currently filming. Whatever it was that was going to be discussed, it clearly wasn't something that they needed a record of.

He turned as Mycroft cleared his throat uneasily. "I - I want to tell you, Gregory, I do. I believe that you may be able to help me deal with it. But it is - difficult - for me."

"I understand, pet. Would it help if you closed your eyes, perhaps?" Greg stood next to him and tipped his head back with one finger under his chin. "Just close your eyes, and let me take care of you, okay?" Mycroft nodded shakily as Greg pressed his lips to his forehead.  
   
He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, whining a little as Greg's body heat drifted away. Instantly, his warmth returned to Mycroft's side and his fingers touched the side of his neck. "Shh, pet. I'm right here. I'm just getting a little more comfortable, okay?" Mycroft heard the whisper of Greg's tie sliding away from his shirt collar and he nodded.  
   
"Yes, Gregory." Mycroft sighed again, debating how to begin. "Do you remember, when I first came to you - my limits?"  
   
"Of course I do." The vague sound of buttons being flicked open, one by one.  
   
"And one of my hard limits, did it strike you as a bit unusual?"  
   
"What, the one about nonconsensual roleplay?" Mycroft nodded as he listened to Greg hanging up his shirt, the clank of the hanger against the wood of the rod quite distinct to his ear. "I did think it a bit odd. I mean, I know a lot of people have those sort of fantasies, but that isn't anything that I've ever found pleasure in thinking about, so it was a non-issue for me."  
   
"It wasn't a non-issue for Josef." There was a pause, and Mycroft found himself leaning away slightly as a distinct wave of anger washed over him. Then came the soft thump of trousers hitting the carpeting. "I have a reason for my limit."  
   
"I'm sure you do, pet. And any decent man should abide by it." Another pause, the feel of Gregory's hand on his. "It's not your fault. Not any of it." Mycroft nodded shakily and Greg's hand withdrew as he folded his trousers and hung them in the wardrobe. "What was your reason?"  
   
Mycroft took in another deep breath as Greg's warmth returned to his side. His lover's broad fingers fumbled slightly at his neck, loosening and removing his tie. "It happened when I was away at school. He was 17, I was nearly 16. Nearly. As if that makes any difference. It's so difficult when you're a teenager. All those hormones affecting your judgement. All those boys, and all those questions. Is he or isn't he, and if he is, could he ever possibly...?" Gregory's arms wrapped around him, releasing the catch on his cummerbund, slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt. "He showed an interest, and I fell hard. Bloody _hormones_."

Greg chuckled quietly as he slipped the shirt off of Mycroft's shoulders and went to hang it. "A Holmes' worst enemy, eh, pet?"  
   
Mycroft smiled briefly. "It could have been much worse. He was athletic, popular. I was bookish and chubby. It could have been a prank, or something far more dangerous. He didn't mean to hurt me, I'm sure of that. He was just..."   
   
"Seventeen." Greg's voice was soft, his breath ghosting over Mycroft's now-bare chest.   
   
Mycroft shivered slightly as Greg coaxed him into standing and started working on undoing his trousers. "Yes. Over-eager and clumsy. Didn't prepare me, not that either of us really knew what that meant." He stepped out of his trousers as Greg slipped them off of his hips and down, waiting quietly until he returned.   
   
"Budge up, pet." Mycroft blindly climbed up onto the bed, waiting until he felt the dip of the mattress next to him to orient himself. Greg settled into a sitting position against the headboard and pulled Mycroft down in between his legs, bringing his back to his belly, his head resting on Gregory's chest. Mycroft sighed contentedly as his lover draped the blanket over both of them and stroked his hair soothingly.   
   
"Even then, I wanted to please. So even though it hurt, oh  _God_ , did it hurt..." Gregory's arms tightened around him. "I tried not to cry out, but I just couldn't hold it back. I told him to stop, I begged him to. But he didn't. Didn't last too long, of course. Thank God for that, at least." Gregory's lips pressed to the top of his head, his breath warm against his scalp. "By the time he pulled out, I was sobbing. He just looked at me, horrified. And then he _left_ me there. Alone and bleeding." Greg rocked him gently. "Of course, I couldn't tell anyone. Couldn't even go to the school nurse, could I?"  
   
"Oh, _pet_."  
   
Mycroft turned onto his side, pressing his ear against Greg's chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. "He never even apologised. Just pretended I was invisible whenever we passed in the halls."  
   
"Did you ever talk about it with someone? A counsellor?"  
   
"No. Just Josef."  
   
Another hot wave of anger washed over him. "And he _still_ pushed for a non-con scene."  
   
Mycroft huffed out a breath. "He said it would be therapeutic. Acting it out, changing the outcome."  
   
"That's ridiculous."  
   
"No, not really. I have seen it work in some cases. But it was not something I was willing to attempt."  
   
"So what happened? If he had just been pushy, even if you had agreed to do it against your better judgement, that wouldn't be the cause for the look I saw on your face this evening."  
   
Mycroft sighed again, running his fingers over Greg's chest, playing with the random wisps of hair that he encountered. "We hadn't seen each other for a while, and I wanted to be tied up. I told him that I'd suck him, but of course he had other ideas. I told him no, I safeworded, I begged him to stop."

Greg's body had gone completely rigid underneath Mycroft, and when he spoke, it was through clenched teeth. "That's what he wanted. To hear you _beg_. To fulfil his motherfucking fantasy... _Jesus_." He squeezed Mycroft gently, his heart suddenly beating in a fierce and wild rhythm. "I could still send John and Sherlock after him..."

His voice had turned hopeful, and Mycroft couldn't help but chuckle at him. "No, Gregory. I'd really prefer to just move on." He traced a finger down Greg's chest to his belly, smiling as he shivered underneath him, caressing his skin until his heartbeat seemed to calm. "I ended it that very night, and I took some time to myself. Until I was sure I was ready."

"And then you came to me." Greg ran his fingers down Mycroft's spine, smiling as he arched into his touch.

Mycroft opened his eyes slowly and looked up at Greg shyly. "Yes, Gregory."

Greg sighed heavily, his body still held tense and uneasy. "What else had he done to you?"

Mycroft trembled minutely. "I would prefer not to go into specifics, and I'm sure you've worked out the broader picture on your own."

"How bad, Mycroft?"

"Bruises, mostly." Greg hissed in a short breath. "He knew where to hit so the marks wouldn't be seen, of course." Mycroft's right hand twitched, and Greg reached out to take it.

He studied it carefully, finding the faint scar with no trouble. Greg ran his fingers along the crooked pinkie. "He broke it."

Mycroft swallowed and nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on a random spot on the wall. "Actually, it was the ring finger that was broken. The pinkie - it was pretty much shattered. That's why it's crooked. They put it back together as best they could, but..."

"Jesus, Mycroft. _Jesus_." Greg's hand tightened on his ever so briefly before he raised it to his mouth and kissed it, pressing it to his cheek and rubbing gently. Mycroft let out a shuddering breath at the sensation of hot wetness on his lover's cheek. "And how long were you with him?

"Just under four years, although a great deal of that time was spent apart due to the nature of our work."

"God, pet. _Why?_ "

"Unfortunately, I do not have an adequate answer for you, Gregory. I don't know why I stayed with him."

"Unless it had something to do with that 'I don't matter' nonsense that you were spouting just a couple weeks back."

Mycroft smiled faintly. "Perhaps."

"But you know better now, don't you, pet?"

"Yes, Gregory. You have certainly helped me to realise a few things about myself. Things that I had forgotten."

"I'll be here to remind you as often as you need, pet."

Mycroft reached up to cup Greg's cheek, caressing him lightly. "I know." He trailed his fingers lower and lower still, hooking them into the waistband of Greg's pants and snapping the elastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg attempts a little therapy of his own...

Greg jumped with a little laugh. "Naughty, pet."

Mycroft smiled wickedly. "Maybe I feel naughty, Gregory." He shifted slightly, licking a broad wet stripe across Greg's nipple.

"Ah." Greg's fingers tightened in Mycroft's hair and he pulled gently. "Pet, wait. Just - I need to know. Did I ever - I mean, have I hurt you? Or pushed you into something you weren't ready for?"  
   
Mycroft's grey eyes softened and crinkled around the edges as he smiled broadly. "No, Gregory. You have been - wonderful."  
   
"Even that first time? I wasn't too rough?"  
   
Mycroft's body shivered at the memory and he stretched languidly against Greg, tipping back his head and kissing him under the chin. "Oh, God, Gregory - no. You were rough, but in all the right ways. I'll admit that I was nervous at first, but that night was one of the best I've ever had. And I'm not just saying that." He continued his assault on his lover's body, licking and nipping along Greg's collarbone.  
   
Greg groaned and shuddered under Mycroft's touch. "Mycroft. Are you sure you want to do this tonight?"

Mycroft swiftly moved to his hands and knees, bending his head down to lick at the other nipple, biting down gently. Greg hissed out a breath and squirmed. _"Absolutely."_

Greg caught Mycroft's face in his hands and kissed him ferociously before wriggling down in the bed underneath him. "Then I have an idea. A little therapy of my own, yeah?" Mycroft just blinked down at him as Greg turned his bright grin up at him. "Bit of a different perspective, in't it?"

Mycroft smiled slowly. "I think I like it."

Greg laughed as he shifted his hips, sliding his pants down and kicking them off, winking at Mycroft and tilting his head toward the bedside table. "Lube?" Mycroft reached for the small bottle and balanced it on Greg's chest, but he shook his head and placed it back in Mycroft's hand, guiding it lower as he spread his thighs. "Finger me, pet. Open me up. I want you to fuck me."

Mycroft flushed hotly. _"Oh."_

"Do you object?"

"Oh, Gregory. Not at all. It wasn't what was agreed upon earlier in the evening, but you'll find that I'm really quite flexible." He carefully lowered his weight onto the man beneath him, reaching up to tug at his hair as they kissed. Greg moaned as Mycroft ran his tongue along his lower lip and then slowly sucked it into his mouth, nibbling gently.  
   
Greg rumbled low in his chest as he clutched at his lover almost desperately. "More, pet. You don't have to be gentle with me."

Mycroft smiled wickedly as he ran his fingers lightly over and across Greg's torso. "Oh, I know."

"Tease." Greg smiled up at him gently, attempting to reassure Mycroft that whatever he needed, he would let him have, or even more, would willingly give. If his pet wanted to go slow, then Greg would only be too happy to comply. Mycroft seemed to read this in his face, as his own sharp smile softened slightly.

He sat up, leaning on one arm to survey what the man lying by his side was offering him, raking his eyes over Gregory's body, taking in every glorious inch, every scar and freckle, every little whorl of body hair, the beautiful dark tone to his skin. This, this beautiful body was being offered to him without reservation, and even as he looked on him, Gregory lifted one knee and let it fall open and to the side, exposing every part of himself.

Mycroft lifted his eyes to Gregory's face, and blushed a little at the lascivious grin being aimed at him. Greg raised his arms and slipped his hands underneath his head with a rather cocky attitude that would have been nigh on unbearable if it had come from anyone but this man. "Like what you see, pet?"

"Always, Gregory. You are - " Mycroft tried to convey the depth of his feeling and awe with nothing more than a sound, a breathy moan drifting off into a low growl. His smile sharpened once more as Gregory gasped and shivered, shifting to kneel between his legs, running his hands from knee to thigh to belly and chest. Mycroft leant forward and dragged his caged cock along Gregory's hard length.

Greg's hips rolled up to meet his, and his hands caressed Mycroft's upper arms. "God, _yes_ , pet." He brought their mouths together hard. "Mycroft. I want to feel you inside me."

It was Mycroft's turn to gasp and shiver. "Oh, Gregory. You know I could never refuse you." He sat back on his heels and reached for the lube, slicking up his fingers liberally. Greg let the other leg fall open as Mycroft reached down and below, finding the tight little pucker of flesh with one probing finger. Greg sighed as it slid in easily. "So hot, Gregory." Mycroft's eyes fluttered closed. "You're going to feel so good around me."

He moved his finger slowly, just feeling his way around tentatively, as the truth was that he had never done this with any of his previous partners. Mycroft had only ever been the bottom in all his relationships. He had prepared himself before, as the partners that he had allowed to penetrate him were often impatient about that sort of thing, so he knew how to open himself quickly and with a minimum of fuss. But this was different - this was Gregory. He wanted to take his time, he wanted to explore this wondrous man inside and out.

Greg blinked at him and rolled his hips. "Another, pet." Mycroft complied, his body shuddering at Gregory's quiet moan. "Deeper." Once again, Mycroft obeyed, pressing in as deep as he could, crooking his fingers and moving them in and out steadily. Greg groaned, throwing his head back and writhing underneath him.

Mycroft felt his skin flush as pure want and need suddenly flooded his body. God, the things that this man could do to him. Never before had anyone taken him so out of his head, that neat orderly little world, and slam him right into his body, a jumbled mass of uncertainty and wild emotions. Only Gregory. But why? Love? He supposed it be must be. Mycroft shook himself. Even if it was, it didn't matter. Gregory wasn't his to love, not really. _In love with your little brother's partner - that is truly pathetic, Mycroft. Can't let the boy have anything of his own, can you?_

Gregory moaned again, swiftly drawing Mycroft out of his head once again. He slipped in a third finger, smiling as Gregory's body clenched down on him. "Ready, I'm ready. Now, pet. I need to feel you _now_." He rolled his hips and sighed. "How do you want me?"

Mycroft blinked rapidly. _"Um..."_ He removed his hand and shivered as Gregory moaned again.

Greg tilted his head and sat up slowly. "You've not done this before, have you?" Mycroft dropped his eyes and shook his head slightly. "Nothing to be embarrassed about. I knew it wasn't part of your usual repertoire, I just hadn't expected this to be your first time." He leant forward to capture Mycroft's mouth. "So I'll ride you, pet. That way, I still get to be on top. How's that?"

Mycroft giggled with relief. "You're so understanding, Gregory. It's really quite unfair."

Greg quirked an eyebrow as he indicated that Mycroft should lie down. "Unfair how?"

Mycroft sighed as he settled back, slipping off his pants as he did so. "I have no defences, Gregory. I am - conquered."

Greg chuckled. "Hardly, pet. No conquering necessary." He reached into the bedside table drawer. "You _surrendered_."

Mycroft sucked in a quick breath at the knowing gleam in Gregory's dark eyes. He bit his lip and said nothing, merely watching as Gregory drew a small, thin leather strap out of the bedside drawer and lifted the chain from around his neck.

"I know it's only been a couple of weeks since we last let you out, but still - let's make sure it lasts, yeah?" Mycroft nodded as Greg bent to slip the strap around his cock and bollocks, snapping it snug, but not tight before unlocking the cage and slipping it off. Mycroft moaned and clutched at the sheet under his hands as his blood rushed down and filled his hitherto neglected flesh.

Greg grinned. "God, I love watching that. Springs up like anything." He reached out to give Mycroft's prick a light stroke. "And all of it just for me." Mycroft's teeth dug into his lip a bit deeper. There was no use agreeing or denying - they both knew the truth of Greg's words. He climbed back into the bed and straddled Mycroft's lower legs, licking his lips with a quiet moan. "I have to, pet. Just a little taste, yeah?"

"Anything, Gregory." Mycroft's voice was a mere whisper. " _Anything_ you desire."

_"Mm."_ Greg slowly lowered his head and stuck out his tongue, running the flat of it from the root of  Mycroft's cock all the way to the tip. He pointed his tongue and flickered it over the slit delicately before swirling it around the head before simply bobbing down, his hot mouth engulfing him completely. Mycroft made a strangled gasping noise as his back arched off the mattress, but Greg swiftly grasped his hips and held him down as he bobbed once, twice more, pulling off with a small 'pop'.

"Oh, pet. You're _so_ tasty."

_" Nghk."_ Greg laughed brightly as he worked on getting Mycroft covered and slicked up before crawling up over his body. Mycroft immediately reached up to pull his head down, kissing him desperately. "Oh, God. _Gregory_."

"Yes, pet. I love feeling you on my tongue, you know. Your prick, your tongue. Your beautiful creamy skin. I love the taste and the feel of you." His dark eyes glinted in the half-light. "I need you to know, to understand... You are - precious - to me, Mycroft. Whatever happens, you are not to allow yourself to be mistreated again."

"Gregory..."

"No. This is an order, Mycroft. Priority one, you understand me?"

Mycroft would have laughed if it were not for the sincerity in those beautiful eyes. After all, the only way he could be mistreated again would be if he were foolish enough to give Gregory up. And that simply would not happen. Although... That really wasn't up to him, was it? He shook himself. Best not let his thoughts travel down that dark road. As Gregory himself had often stated to Sherlock in the very beginning - now was what mattered. And right now, Gregory needed reassurances.

Greg looked down at his pet, watching the myriad thoughts and emotions flickering rapidly over his face. Finally, he nodded, reaching up to caress his face. "I _swear_ to you, Gregory. I will never be in such a situation again."  Mycroft ran his hands down Greg's body, straining slightly to reach for his arse, squeezing both cheeks firmly. "Now. What was that about wanting to feel me inside you?"

Greg chuckled quietly before pressing a swift kiss to his lips and then going up on his knees. He situated himself, reaching behind to grasp the base of Mycroft's cock before sinking down onto it slowly, biting his lip and looking Mycroft full in the eyes the whole way down. Mycroft moaned low as his eyes fluttered rapidly, flashing open wide as Greg rocked slightly, settling himself.

Greg sighed. "Oh, _yes_. Yes, pet. You feel wonderful." He rolled his hips and clenched down hard. "How is it?"

Mycroft's mouth was hanging slack, and he let out a gusty breath as Greg shifted again. "I - I don't quite know what to say. You feel - amazing. My God, the _heat_ of you..." He attempted a little thrust, just a minute rocking of his hips. "So tight. Oh, my dear Gregory..."

"Mm." Greg's tongue flickered over his lips as he started to move gently. "Good. That's good. Oh sweet _Christ_."

"Gre \- I - _oh my_. I don't quite - good Lord..."

Greg huffed out a quiet laugh. "Whatever you feel, go with it." He started rocking in a steady motion, leaning forward and bracing his hands on Mycroft's ribcage. The man underneath him shuddered and moaned before raising his knees and bracing his feet on the bed, meeting Greg's downward motion with a gentle upward thrust that swiftly increased in pace and depth. Greg grunted as Mycroft began to drive into him. "Yes, oh yes. Oh, all the Heavenly saints. _Yes_ , pet. Fuck me."

Mycroft snarled and obliged, wrapping his hands around Greg's hips and pulling his body down as he thrust up. Greg cried out and leant backward, bracing himself against Mycroft's legs, shifting from side to side as he angled for that sweet spot. Mycroft grunted in an appalling animalistic manner, spreading his thighs a bit more, and - tilting - just a bit, and there it was, Greg's face suddenly shifting from concentration to utter bliss.

"Oh, God, pet. There, just - _mm_. Right fucking _there_."

"Yes, Gregory. God, you feel incredible." Mycroft's hand start to wander toward Gregory's cock, but he swiftly captured it and suddenly stilled his motion.

Greg panted slightly. "Wait - just hold on a sec - Jesus." Mycroft quirked an eyebrow, but stopped moving as Greg lifted himself up slightly, reaching down between them and - oh! - unsnapping the strap and pulling it free. Mycroft groaned with relief and resumed thrusting, harder than before. " _Ngh_. Fucking Christ, _yes_. Do it, pet. Touch me. Make me come, let me feel you come. So beautiful underneath me."

Mycroft's long fingers wrapped around that gorgeous thick cock, and he began pumping it hard, just as hard as he was fucking deep into his lover. After only a few strokes, Gregory's chin dropped to his chest and he clutched at Mycroft's arms as he started to come. He pushed him through it, watching with delight and joy as his lover threw his head back and moaned unabashedly, long white stripes of come painting Mycroft's hand and belly and then his Gregory fixed him with a look of such intensity that he quite lost control of - everything, really.

Greg grunted and bounced hard once, twice, clenching down as tight as he could. He moaned again as Mycroft clutched his body to him tightly, nothing but a tiny squeak escaping his throat as he pulsed within him. Greg watched as Mycroft's face flushed and sweat broke out on his brow, his lovely grey eyes going slightly fuzzy, and it seemed that perhaps - oh yes, he definitely swooned a bit. Greg grinned as he regained his breath and his sensibilities, lifting himself off of his pet with a quiet hiss of displeasure, leaning down to lap at his come.

Mycroft moaned and fluttered his hands against him ineffectually. "Oh, God, Gregory. _Don't_. You'll start it all over again, and I'm too tired..."

Greg could only chuckle at him fondly. "All right. It has been quite a day for you, hasn't it?"

Mycroft could only nod weakly. "I should go..."

"Let me clean you up a bit." Greg removed the condom and went to the toilet to get a damp flannel, coming back and carefully wiping Mycroft down.

His pet could only barely manage to smile up at him faintly. "Bit odd. This is usually my job."

"Oh, I know, pet. The world's all topsy-turvy, in't it?" Mycroft chuckled low, a happy glow on his face. "Back in a mo." Greg went back into the tiny bathroom and wiped himself off and washed his hands before heading back into the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock receives his instructions...

Greg came back from cleaning himself up in the small toilet to find Mycroft curled up on his side, completely and utterly passed out. He blinked down on the vision that was Mycroft Holmes with all of his defences stripped away, the elegant high brow clear, his pink mouth hanging slack. He looked peaceful, almost innocent, and as Greg watched, Mycroft snuffled in a quiet snore, his long limbs twitching minutely.

Something twinged deep inside, and Greg did the only thing he could possibly bear to do, sliding back into the bed at Mycroft's side. He reached out to trail one finger along his jawline, pulling back abruptly as Mycroft's head jerked violently. " _Shh_ , pet. It's okay, you're okay. Quiet, now."

Mycroft whimpered quietly and unconsciously pressed closer to Greg, nuzzling into his chest with a little moan. Greg wrapped his arms around him and gently shifted a leg over his hip, bringing him in even closer to his body. Mycroft sighed happily and fell back into a deep slumber moments later. _Well, fuck. What do I do now?_ When this whole thing with Mycroft had begun, Greg had promised his other lovers that he'd be sleeping in the shared bed downstairs, but there was no way he'd just leave his pet up here alone, not after hearing the horrible story that he had shared with him.

There was a barely audible creak outside the door, and Greg looked up to see that it was cracked open, just a sliver. Smiling slightly, he called out in an exaggerated whisper, "Sherlock?" The door opened just a bit more, and one pale quicksilver eye peered in. Greg gave him a little nod, and Sherlock slipped into the room. He didn't seem overly perturbed by his brother's nudity, although his first action was to gather the blanket that had been kicked off at some point during their activities and drape it over the entwined bodies on the bed. Mycroft's body let out another sudden twitch, and Greg shushed him again, patting his soft red hair.

Sherlock stood and looked down at Mycroft, not bothering to hide his concern, since his brother was clearly not alert enough to see it. "He told you."

"Not too many specifics, but yes." Greg squinted up at Sherlock. "How much did you know?"

Sherlock moved to Greg's side of the bed and carefully lowered himself onto the mattress. "Enough. We never spoke of it."

"And you _didn't_ go after the little weasel?"

Sherlock's eyes flashed. "I thought about it. I wanted to, but I knew Mycroft would not approve." He picked at a loose thread on his dressing gown fitfully. "So I didn't." Sherlock looked at Greg hard, his eyes piercing.

A sudden revelation hit him and he smiled ruefully. "You sent me in there tonight, didn't you? You knew he'd be there, and that he'd try something. You wanted me to warn him off."

"And did you?"

"I believe so, you sly bastard." Greg smiled faintly. "Played the part of the big bad Alpha quite well, if I do say so myself. Told him that I had both you and John at my beck and call."

"Well, you do. You may think the idea ridiculous, Greg, but the truth is that you are the head of our merry little band. You are the pack leader, and if you want something done, you know that you have but to ask." Sherlock's face was serious, even as the corners of his mouth turned up in mirth. "Playing the Alpha was quite the correct thing to do, as well as mentioning other partners. Josef was undoubtedly threatened by the idea that you are so much more virile than he could ever hope to be."

Greg practically choked. "Virile?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. " _Obviously_. Look around yourself, you daft fool. You're keeping three partners well and truly satisfied on a daily basis. There are not many men your age who are able to say the same about one partner." He rolled his eyes again at the smirk that was slowly spreading over Greg's face and leant in to poke at his chest. "Don't let it get to your head, Detective Inspector."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Mycroft whimpered low in his throat, and Greg pressed a kiss to the top of his head before turning back to Sherlock, his voice a low murmur. "Okay, then. I want you to dig, baby. Find out everything you can about Josef Lofgren. Travel if you have to, but keep it as quiet as possible. Do _not_ contact him or engage in any manner unless strictly necessary. I don't want him to know that you're looking into him. This is purely for information - just in case. I'm fairly certain he got the message, but I'd like a little insurance, yeah?"

Sherlock swooped down and planted a heated kiss on Greg's lips. "Yes, absolutely." He glanced to Mycroft's face and then back to Greg, his eyes swimming with gratitude. "Thank you."

"Hush, baby. It doesn't need to be said. I know how much you care for him. I want him to be just as safe as you do."

Sherlock leant his forehead on Greg's temple and heaved out a great breath. " _Greg..._ "

" _Mm_. Want me to come down?"

"No, stay here. Mycroft needs you. I'll explain to John; he'll understand."

"If you're sure."

Sherlock stood and quirked an eyebrow. "I'm always sure."

Greg grinned and shook his head as Sherlock pulled the blanket up a bit more and crossed to the door. Greg winked up at him and he smiled broadly before flipping the switch on the lights and slipping out the door, shutting it firmly behind him. Greg closed his eyes and listened to Mycroft's steady breathing, letting it carry him down into slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little panic attack...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little one, hopefully I'll have more for you before the end of the week...

Mycroft startled him awake what seemed like mere moments later. " _Gregory_ , oh God, oh _God_..." His pet pushed at his chest, struggling to free himself. Greg immediately released him, blinking blearily as he rolled over on his back.  
   
" M'crft \- wha?" Mycroft sat up abruptly and turned a panicked expression on him that did more to wake him up than any of the foul swill that the Met attempted to pass off as 'coffee' ever could. "Pet, calm yourself."   
   
Mycroft tangled his fingers together before bringing them up to his face, scrubbing them over his cheeks viciously. " _Rules_ , Gregory. We broke the rules and what if they find out and tell me that I'm not allowed to come back any more, my _God_ , Gregory, I couldn't handle that right now, I mean, I knew that I'd have to give you up at some point but not now, no, not now it's too early and I just couldn't..." He paused to take a breath and Greg blinked, watching his extraordinary brain working. "Maybe I could sneak out. Sherlock is no doubt sequestered in his lab... And it's certainly too early for John to be awake. Yes, that's it. I'll just sneak out and maybe you just fell asleep here by yourself. Yes, that might work..."  
   
Greg sighed deeply and reached out a hand as Mycroft started to push himself out of the bed, neatly capturing an arm and yanking hard. Mycroft hit the mattress with a _'whumf'_ , grey eyes wide and still very much panicking. Greg moved swiftly, much quicker than he thought he'd be able to move working on less than three hours sleep. He encircled each wrist with his hands, pinning his pet's arms down over his head, before straddling long creamy thighs, clamping his knees in tight. Mycroft struggled blindly until Greg lowered his head and set his teeth into his neck firmly.  
   
And then he waited. He could feel Mycroft's heartbeat against his chest, fluttering like a trapped animal. He gave his captive a little shake, growling quietly into his flesh and suddenly all of the fight went out of the man underneath him. He held on for just a moment more, waiting, waiting for the soft sigh that indicated complete submission. Greg opened his mouth, removing his teeth and using his tongue to lave over the abused spot slowly, languidly. Mycroft let out another sigh that ended on a breathy moan.  
   
Greg propped himself up to look Mycroft in the face, who was blinking back up at him, his expression more than a bit shameful. "Is that how you handle crises of state? By freaking the _fuck_ out?"  
   
"Any emergencies that I deal with on my job - none are as important to me as this is." He took in a deep breath. "I believe that opening myself up to you in the manner that I did last night may have left me vulnerable to an embarrassing surplus of emotion. I do - apologise for my momentary state of panic."  
   
Greg tilted his head and smiled slowly. "Lucky for you I'm a reasonable man. Otherwise I might try to use you to rule the world. Quite a rush, knowing I'm holding the bollocks of the British government in my oh-so-capable hands."  
   
"Quite capable. And as you said, reasonable."  Mycroft hesitated. "Not that it would be allowed to come to that, you understand."  
   
Greg nodded. "I know I have eyes on me, Mycroft. It doesn't frighten me. As long as there are no eyes here in 221B, I don't really care."  
   
Mycroft purred, his manner suddenly switching from contrite to sultry. "Oh, I know you don't. That's one of the numerous things that I find terribly alluring about you, Gregory."  
   
Greg's head spun slightly, becoming all too aware of certain bits of both men starting to wake up, taking a clear interest in the proceedings. "Stop that, you tart. No sexy voices or sexy motions or sexy eyes until we discuss what brought on your little tizzy."  
   
Mycroft bit his lip and toned down his come-hither gaze. "We broke the rules, Gregory. I don't - I don't want to give you up. I can't. Not yet."   
   
Greg tilted his head inquisitively. "Not yet? What makes you think it will ever happen?"  
   
"I'm not - I don't - situations such as ours, Gregory - they don't often last long. And I've never, well - good things like this - I am not permitted the luxury, you understand."  
   
Greg huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head with disbelief. "You and Sherlock both. My God, what happened to you two to make you think that you aren't worth spit? That you don't deserve happiness? You two _astound_ me."  
   
" Gre-"  
   
"No." Greg's voice brooked absolutely no argument, and Mycroft's mouth snapped shut. "You listen to me, and listen well. Whatever we have here, it's more than just a 'situation'. Sherlock and John are perfectly aware of that, and so far I've heard no objections. Neither one of us is going to have to give anything up. Besides, Sherlock stopped in last night after you passed clean out and told me to stay. So there. Crisis averted, yeah?"  
   
Mycroft blinked. "He gave permission?"  
   
"More than that, pet. He gave  _approval_."  
   
" _Oh_. Oh, Gregory, I am so sorry." He blinked again, a tinge of embarrassment stealing into his cheeks. "Oh dear. That means he must have seen me in my current state of dishabille..."

Greg laughed quietly. "Yes, well. He didn't run screaming, and his eyes weren't bleeding when he left, so..."

"Still. I am certain he was affected more than he let show. I must apologise, my dear. I don't know quite - "  
   
Greg hushed him with a gentle but thorough kiss, doing his best to ignore his now-quite-awake-and-quite-rude-and-demanding-attention nether regions. "You apologise by calming the fuck down and letting me get some more _sleep_. After what I hope will be a very long and rather pleasant nap, we will go downstairs and take tea together and maybe have a little something to eat. If you want to talk to either Sherlock or John, you will have that opportunity. How's that?"  
   
Greg heaved out a tremendous sigh of relief as a slow smile graced Mycroft's lips, one pale red eyebrow quirking upward saucily. "Are you intending to pin me down while you sleep, then?"  
   
"Smartarse." Greg released him and rolled back onto the mattress, holding out his arm and waiting for Mycroft to tuck himself back into the curve of his body. "Oh _God_ , that's so much better, don't you think?" He ran his hand down Mycroft's back, smiling as he felt his body shiver pleasantly. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep after your little episode?"  
   
"My mind is much calmer now, thanks to you. I do not foresee an issue with that."   
   
Greg yawned, and Mycroft swiftly followed suit, muffling it against his lover's chest. "Good, tha's good - you need - it... _Mm_..."  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft takes tea and then takes his leave...

Four hours of lovely catatonia later, Greg, wearing nothing but his pants, and Mycroft, clad in tuxedo sans jacket and tie, were seated around the kitchen table. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, as per his usual, and John was making them tea, as per _his_ usual. At the first sip, both men let out a gusty sigh. John simply quirked an eyebrow and let a faint smile ghost over his lips, accepting their unspoken gratitude.

"So how was the dinner, then?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Dreadfully dull, of course."

"Oh, I don't know about that. I met Mycroft's mentor and his delightfully charming wife. She invited us to visit their estate. In Brazil."

John's brow furrowed. "Not sure what Sherlock will think of you two going off on holiday..."

"No, love. She invited us all."

The furrow grew deeper. _"Hm."_

"Yeah." Greg cleared his throat and gave John a significant look. "I also had the somewhat dubious pleasure of meeting Mycroft's ex." Greg wasn't sure exactly how much Sherlock had told John, but they'd had a few conversations where Greg had discussed his suspicions and fears about his pet's previous relationship. John looked Mycroft over carefully, noting the distinct aura of shame in the set of his shoulders, the manner in which his right hand twitched. Greg noticed with a small amount of pride that it was not immediately clenched into a fist, or hidden away.

John noticed it as well, and carefully reaching out, covered it with his left. Their hands twitched together as John curled his fingers, and Mycroft suddenly clasped John's hand tight, lifting his face to find John smiling at him gently, sympathy and not pity in his gaze. Another brief squeeze, and the men released their grip on one another.

John turned his attention back to Greg, who was looking between his pet and his love with approval. "And what impression do you think he had of you?"

Greg smiled sharply. "I think that now he knows better than to encroach on another man's territory."

John snorted and Mycroft laughed. Greg just looked pleased with himself.

"I'm sure he does. On your territory, anyhow." Sherlock strode into the kitchen in a swirl of blue silk dressing gown. "I'm quite confident that the issue has been taken care of."

"Ah, Sherlock. How good of you to grace us with your presence." Sherlock raised one imperious brow. "I wish to - thank - both you and John for allowing me to stay last night. I know that wasn't part of the original agreement."

"Nonsense. The way you were clinging to Greg, there was no way I would have been able to extract him. I had no idea you were able to magically sprout new limbs in the night, brother dear."

John smiled and lifted himself up on his toes to kiss Sherlock's cheek. "Must be a Holmes thing. You damn near suffocated me in your sleep last night yourself."

Mycroft smiled at his younger brother's faint blush and pulled out his mobile, texting his driver.

Greg glanced over. "Not staying on, then?"

"I regret that there are important matters that I must attend to. I've dominated more than my fair share of your time, Gregory. I do appreciate your partners' kind indulgences, but that is something that I should not abuse." He stood and gathered his jacket. "I am also quite sure that you have things that you would like to discuss without me. I'd like to thank you, Gregory, for last night. You are - extraordinary."

_" Pfft."_ Greg pulled Mycroft down into a heated kiss, both of them steadfastly ignoring Sherlock's obnoxious retching noises. "Tomorrow night, then?"

Mycroft blinked rapidly and huffed a warm breath over Greg's lips. "Oh, _yes_." Greg released him with a smirk, and  Mycroft left the kitchen, pausing halfway down the stairs to don his jacket and perhaps to eavesdrop, just a bit.

"Go on, then." John's voice was light, full of mirth.

"What's that?"

"The tux. Go get it. I want to be Bond." Mycroft smiled faintly.

Gregory snorted quietly. "It's fitted to me, love. I'm playing Bond."

"Hm. Well, I guess I could be the villain."

A loud scoff, clearly the sound of his younger brother's signature scorn. "You haven't the deviousness, John. Obviously _I'm_ the villain."

"Well, then what does that make me?" There was a pause, and no doubt some very significant looks. " _No_. Oh, no. I'm not playing the bloody woman."

Sherlock's quiet chuckle blended rather nicely with Gregory's barely restrained giggles. "No, not a woman, but yes, Bond's love interest. The seemingly vulnerable but ultimately conniving man who steals James' heart away. Quite unlike your normal character, John."

John hummed quietly as he appeared to consider the idea carefully. "Well, in that case, can I be a secret agent too?"

"Oh, _quite_. Come, John, let's write you up a dossier while Greg dresses for the occasion."

Mycroft quickly stifled the impending sound of his own merriment and slipped down the stairs and out of the flat, wishing that the cameras were still in place. Seeing Gregory tied to a chair or in some other form of modified 'torture' would be well worth it, especially if he were wearing the tux. Lost in a daydream, Mycroft missed seeing the curly head popping over the banister, watching him close the door behind him as he left.

"All right, he's gone."

"How much did Sherlock tell you, love?"

"Just that you're sending us off on a little fact-finding mission to Sweden. Tracking down this bastard and digging up some dirt."

"That's about it, yeah. Try to keep the big git there out of trouble too." Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes. "And well... I know that you're somewhat familiar with a certain, um, community. So if you could figure out a way..."

John smiled sharply. "Yeah. Reputable places, they don't want abusers hanging around. I can start passing some messages around. But, love, that doesn't mean he won't find anyone else to, well..."

"It'll cut down on his chances, though, and put him on some radars. That's good enough for now. I'm not above paying the little weasel a visit myself if it comes down to that." Greg snarled faintly as he contemplated another possible confrontation.

"Mm." Sherlock swooped down and started nibbling on Greg's neck with fervour. "God, I love seeing you all fierce and angry. You're _delicious_ when your blood is up." He cut a wicked glance to John, who was fidgeting impatiently on the other side of the table. Sherlock smiled slowly. "Oh, I quite agree, Agent 221. James should most certainly get dressed for dinner..."

Greg chuckled at John's broad grin and headed up the stairs to put himself back together for a little play-acting with his lovers, once again reflecting that he must be the luckiest bastard in the whole of London, if not the entire British Isles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really thought that I'd perhaps have a scene or two with S&J in Sweden, tracking down Josef's old conquests and gathering info, but it just isn't manifesting properly. 
> 
> So for now, this is where Josef is officially out of the picture. If it transpires that another meeting takes place in my head somewhere, rest assured that it will be written up and posted.
> 
> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft has a need, and Greg fulfills it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do comment... 
> 
> If you have questions, or wish to see something resolved, I'd very much like to know.
> 
> Thank you!

Greg's day at the Yard had been rather routine, consisting of little more than mindlessly dull paperwork that he had been putting off for far too long. Nice and quiet, even with Sherlock calling nearly constantly to see if there were any juicy murders nearby. After the fifth, no, the sixth call, Greg had finally told him off, saying that if he was truly that bored, then he could just get his arse down here and play secretary.

Sherlock had huffed impatiently and hung up in the middle of Greg's statement, insufferable prat that he was, but at least he hadn't called again. Around six, as Greg was signing the last of the forms on his desk with a tired flourish, his text alert went off.

_'Done at the clinic, love. Want me to pick something up for dinner?'_

_'Whatever you want is fine, John. I'll be heading home soon myself. Just FYI, Sherlock's been testy today.'_

_'Oh, isn't that just fabulous. Ta for the warning though - see you in a bit.'_

When Greg walked in the front door, he immediately noticed Mycroft's umbrella tucked into the stand. His eyebrows went up and he glanced at his watch. Not quite seven. In the four months or so that they'd been seeing each other, the earliest that Mycroft had been able to get away before was around eight. Greg felt a little twinge of anticipation as he shrugged off his mack.

He went up the stairs to the sitting room, pausing just outside to toe off his shoes. Sherlock was pacing despite a rather impressive repast from his favourite Chinese spread out on the coffee table, and John was sitting on the edge of the sofa, his face tense. As soon as Greg fully entered the room, Sherlock was on him, snogging him deeply. Greg pulled Sherlock in tight and returned his kiss, nibbling lightly on his lush lower lip.

"Mycroft's here."

"Yeah, I saw. Did he do something to upset you, baby?"

John stood and slipped an arm around Greg's waist. "No, not exactly. Came in and went upstairs as usual. But something's wrong, Greg. He had this _look_ about him..." John shivered and Greg bent down to put his lips on his neck, mouthing at his skin lightly. John sighed quietly and squeezed his waist.

Sherlock kissed Greg again and laid his head on his shoulder. "He's terribly upset, Greg. Make it better."

Greg caressed Sherlock's curls and kissed his forehead before releasing him into John's care. He quickly shed his suit jacket and hung it up before heading up to the attic room.  
   
Mycroft was standing at the window, fully dressed, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared blankly down into the street below. Greg had grown so used to seeing him completely bare, that for just a moment, this man in his ridiculously expensive three-piece suit had seemed a total stranger.  
   
Greg shut the door with a soft click and cleared his throat. Mycroft turned slightly, and Greg's first instinct was to just pull him in and hold him close. He looked... Well - devastated. His cool grey eyes were weary and shining with unshed tears, his forehead furrowed and lips pulled tight.

"I'm afraid that I may have made a grave error."

Greg came closer, scanning Mycroft's face. "What can you tell me?"  
   
"Only that lives may be in danger, and that it's my fault for being careless and _stupid_."

Greg reached out and grasped the back of Mycroft's neck and pulled their foreheads together. "Stop. You are _not_ stupid. You are one of the most remarkable men I know." He placed his hands on  Mycroft's shoulders. "And while these are very capable, the Powers-That-Be often place far too much responsibility on them."

"Gregory..."

"Hush, pet. Can it be fixed?"

"I am - uncertain at this time. I should be at my office, working out additional strategies."

"So why are you here?"

Mycroft pulled back so he could look at Greg's face. "I - I couldn't _think_. I needed to see you. I - I needed..."

Greg silenced him with a kiss and turned to the small trunk at the foot of the bed, his stomach twisting uneasily as he rummaged for a bit, finally coming up with a small wooden paddle. "You needed to be punished."

Mycroft's shoulders dropped and he sighed. "Yes, Gregory."

"You know what to do."

Mycroft slipped off his jacket and draped it over the back of the desk chair, following that quickly with his waistcoat. He stood at the side of the bed, dropping his trousers and pants before bending over the bed, pillowing his head on his arms.

Greg ran his hand down Mycroft's back, feeling his body tremble under his touch. He lifted his shirt tails and drew them back, gently caressing his bare arse with the tips of his fingers. After a significant pause to gather his own thoughts, to steel himself for the task at hand, he drew back his arm, not too far, no - just here, just right. He tickled the creamy skin with the fingers of his free hand, and then let loose with a swift smack of the paddle, landing on the fleshiest part of Mycroft's arse.

Mycroft's body tensed at every blow, relaxing again with a quiet sigh as Greg gently caressed the tender spots after every strike. After the seventh or eighth blow, a low sob escaped Mycroft's throat. Greg swiftly followed the sound with two more solid strikes, watching carefully as Mycroft's body shuddered and he sobbed again.

Greg reached up to run his fingers through Mycroft's hair and down the back of his neck. "How many was that, pet?"

"T-ten."

"And how many do you think you deserve?"

Another sob was forced from his throat. "Fifty. A hundred."

Greg grimaced, his stomach burning with disquiet. _" Mycroft." _He bent over the prone figure. "Has anyone actually been hurt?"

"N-no. Not yet."

"Then perhaps that penance is a little extreme?"

"No." His pet's voice was a mere whisper, and Greg had to press closer to hear it fully. "If anyone does come to harm..."

"But you aren't going to let that happen, are you?"

"I - I don't..."

"No. _It isn't going to happen_ , Mycroft. Do you _hear_ me?"

"Gregory... I - yes. I hear you."

"So we're done here."

"Please, no. Five more. Just five. _Please_."

Greg stood again and considered, looking at Mycroft's already well-tanned bottom as he placed his hand on his lower back, noting with pleasure how his pet's trembling body stilled completely under his touch.

"Five. And then you're going to fix this."

"Yes, Gregory."

Greg let his hand fly with three more blows in quick succession, and then another gentle caress. Mycroft's tears were flowing free now, his chest heaving with sobs. The last two strikes were delivered halfheartedly, but they were at least delivered, so Greg knew that Mycroft would not be able to protest.

Greg sighed deeply as he returned the paddle to the toy chest and then climbed up on the bed next to Mycroft, who had curled up into a ball in the middle of the mattress. The tears had mostly stopped, but he was shivering uncontrollably as Greg wrapped himself around him. The shakes ceased as Greg pulled him in tight, and even tighter as he ran his fingers through Mycroft's soft red hair.

"That's it. Get it all out." Greg held him through the tears and intermittent tremors, until Mycroft's breathing was steady and his body still. "All better now?"

"Much. Thank you, Gregory." Mycroft's voice was soft. "I know that this was - difficult - for you."

"You needed it."

"I did. But still, I know it wasn't easy. I haven't the words to express my gratitude."

"You're doing just fine, pet."

"No, Gregory... There's more. I think - no. I _am_. I am in lo-"

Greg's hand closed over Mycroft's mouth abruptly. "Hush, pet. Now is not the time. Later, perhaps. After you've fixed your mistake, yeah?"

Mycroft nodded slightly and Greg removed his hand slowly. "I understand, Gregory. You are correct. Now is not the time." He patted the arm that was securely wrapped around his chest and Greg released him. Mycroft sat up slowly, his brain a bit fuzzy and bum smarting intensely. He winced, and couldn't help but notice an answering grimace on Greg's face. "Don't you _dare_."

Greg looked as though he'd been struck. "Pardon?"

"You were preparing to apologise. Don't, please." Mycroft stood gingerly and pulled up his pants and trousers, 'tsk'ing at their rumpled state before donning his waistcoat and rolling up his cuffs, folding his jacket over his arm.

Greg couldn't help but smile. "Time to put in some serious work, yeah?"

"Yes, I believe so. You've helped to clear my mind, Gregory. I wish that I had time to adequately demonstrate my gratitude, but I fear that I've been away too long already."

"Go on, then. I'll fuck you silly another day."

Mycroft's cheeks went crimson. "Greg, I -" In a move that was bold and yet somehow still shy, Mycroft put his hand to Greg's neck and pulled him in for a warm kiss. "Thank you." He walked out the door, leaving Greg mystified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg realises his feelings toward Mycroft, and Sherlock reveals a bit of their past...

Greg listened to Mycroft's steps going down the staircase and then laid down in the middle of the bed, staring up at the ceiling, contemplating this new wrinkle in his life. So it had happened, just as Sherlock had said it would. Greg had realised it as soon as he picked up the paddle. Mycroft had needed it, yes, but Greg wouldn't have been able to bring himself to do it if he weren't in love with the man.  
   
He sighed deeply. What now? He supposed that things could go on as they had, but now that he knew how important he was to him, he longed to be able to pull Mycroft to him, hold him through the night. He had promised both John and Sherlock that he'd be coming back to their shared bed every night, and there was no way another body was going to fit on that bed. Greg could very well imagine the sibling battle that would explode if he even suggested it. He sighed again. _Dammit._  
   
There was a rustle of movement at the door, and Greg looked over to see both John and Sherlock standing there, looking at him pensively.  
   
"Oh. Dinner must've gone cold, huh? Want me to come down?"  
   
Sherlock frowned slightly, his quicksilver eyes searching Greg's face. "I told you this would happen."  
   
"Sherlock!" John gave the taller man a little shove. "We discussed this. No 'I told you so's'. It isn't helpful."  
   
"I'm not trying to be helpful, John."  
   
"Are you angry with me?" Greg's voice was quiet and miserable as he stared up at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact with either of his lovers.  
   
Sherlock huffed and quickly moved to straddle the man laid out on the bed, settling down in his lap, leaving Greg with no choice but to look at him. "No, you great fool. Like I said, I told you it would happen. So I had time to prepare myself, to get used to the idea." He leant down for a quick kiss. "I am not angry with you, or sad, or upset. I know that Mycroft is not going to take you away from us." Sherlock's tone went slightly icy. "He wouldn't _dare_."  
   
John chuckled quietly as he settled down in the bed next to Greg, laying his head on his shoulder and throwing an arm over his chest. "No, love. Neither of us is angry."  
   
"But this will change things, won't it? I - I'm going to need more from him now. And that means less for the two of you."  
   
"Perhaps. But not much, love." John ran his thumb over Greg's cheek. "Mycroft's a busy man. He may be able to stay over a night or two a week at the most. That leaves us with plenty of time."  
   
"I guess we could start out small. Maybe all do dinner together?"  
   
Sherlock immediately pulled a face, but then seemed to reconsider as his features relaxed. "He may be an enormous prat, but he does make a marvellous roast..."  
   
John exchanged an amused glance with Greg. "Anything to get you to eat, Sherlock. Even if the meal is prepared by your arch-enemy."  
   
Sherlock smirked down at John and then glanced at Greg. "You're still tense. Are you all right?"  
   
"Just a little worried about him, is all. And us."  
   
"Don't worry about us. We'll be fine." John snuggled closer. "And as for Mycroft, he definitely had more purpose in his step when he left. Not sure what you did, but it helped."  
   
Greg closed his eyes and let out a gusty breath, opening them again as he felt Sherlock releasing the top two buttons of his shirt, laying his palm flat over Greg's heart. Sherlock looked at him calmly, his eyes a little sad.   
   
"You punished him."  
   
Greg tilted his head back, breaking eye contact to fight back the tears that were threatening to fall. "I hurt him." He concentrated on keeping his breathing steady, focusing on the feeling of Sherlock's skin on his.  
   
"Oh, love." John placed a gentle hand on his cheek and forced him to turn his head. "You helped him. You gave him what he needed. That's all."  
   
"I know." Sherlock slid down his body slightly, bent down to rest his head on Greg's chest. "But still..." He ran his fingers through Sherlock's dark curls, earning a quiet rumble of pleasure.   
   
"Shh..." John shushed him with his fingers to Greg's lips. They all lay huddled together, breathing quietly, until John yawned suddenly. "Damn. I don't remember this bed being quite this comfortable."  
   
Greg laughed. "Yeah, well - this in't the same bed, is it? Mycroft redecorated, din't he? My pet does enjoy his luxury accommodations..." Sherlock snorted.  
   
John yawned again. "Shit. I just may have to come up here for a nap sometime."  
   
Greg kissed his forehead. "Anytime, love. It's not like we keep it locked, and you know you have a standing invitation..."  
   
Sherlock sat up abruptly. "Mine." Both Greg and John laughed as Sherlock scowled down at them. "He doesn't get you. Not both of you. No."  
   
"He wouldn't _have_ me, you sod." John blushed faintly. "I'd only watch. You know how I like to watch Greg play." The magnificent scowl faded slowly, being replaced with a faint smirk.  
   
"Yeah. And then I'd either send John down to you, or make Mycroft watch while I take care of him. Somehow, I don't think that my pet would like that too much."

Sherlock shook his head firmly. "Although Mycroft is not the sort to entertain thoughts of stepping out on his paramour, he's had an eye on our good doctor for a little while now. I do believe that he would very much like to watch you take John apart. It would hardly be the torment that you're imagining. He would do quite literally anything to make you happy, Greg. Anything." Sherlock sighed deeply, his eyes going a little distant. "What Mycroft does or does not like doesn't really matter to him. In nearly all of his past physical relationships, his partners have taken what they wanted or needed, and given next to nothing in return. He wasn't a lover, or even a human being to most of them. He was just a possession, a plaything. He not only accepted this, it seemed to satisfy him, for the most part. Mycroft has - entertained - more than one man at a time before. Only at his partner's request, of course."

Greg turned a mighty frown up at his youngest lover. "Baby, how do you even know this?"

Sherlock blushed faintly and fiddled with the buttons on Greg's shirt. "I've witnessed it." He blushed harder at Greg's raised eyebrows, a look that said _'Explain'_ without words. "When we were younger, at the manor."

John reached out to clasp Sherlock's hand. "Nothing embarrassing about that, sweetheart. Siblings see all kinds of things. I don't even know how many times Harry walked in on me when I was - well. First time it happened, I just froze and waited for her to shriek and start carrying on, but she just rolled her eyes and grabbed her toothbrush and walked out of the toilet like it was the most boring thing she'd ever seen. Truth to tell, I was a bit miffed that I didn't seem worth the outrage."

Greg chuckled and Sherlock smiled faintly as he shook his head. "No, John. This wasn't an accident. We never just 'happened' upon one another while in a compromising position. I watched, quite deliberately. To try and - understand, I suppose." Sherlock sighed again at another wordless demand from Greg. "Mycroft was always more, shall we say - physical - than I was. We were so alike in so many ways, I was trying to understand, to see if perhaps I was flawed because I didn't respond to certain stimuli the way he did."

"Did the age difference never occur you? Puberty? You were still a kid when My started growing hair in certain places and taking an interest in more earthly pursuits, I'm sure."

"No, that did not factor into my theories until I started devouring the different biology texts that we had in the library. I just knew that we were the same, that we had always been the same, until he went away to school. When he came back, when he was on leave, he carried himself differently. He was more - rigid, somehow. Holding himself in tighter. But at least he still made time for me."

Sherlock smiled faintly, his eyes still distant. "At the manor, our bedrooms were connected with a shared bathroom, so even when we were closed in for the night, if I wanted or needed him, I could just slip right in to see him. He always kept his door open just a crack, so I knew that I was welcome. If I couldn't sleep, I would go to him and he'd be waiting and we would play chess or he'd read to me until I fell asleep. The maid would come to wake us in the morning and make a fuss because I'd be asleep in Mycroft's big bed and he'd be curled up in his chair."

Greg and John smiled at each other, the picture in their minds almost overwhelming them with treacle. However either of them had pictured the Holmes upbringing in their imaginings, it wasn't with this distinct aura of sweetness.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "And then there was the time that he brought someone to stay. Mummy approved of him having a friend over for the school holiday, thought it was more fitting for Mycroft to entertain a school mate rather than his nine year-old brother. I was so used to him devoting all of his free time to me, you understand. So I spied, naturally. The bathroom door was open a crack as usual; I don't even know if Mycroft knew that I was there. I watched that boy walk into my brother's room as bold as you please. He didn't protest as he was forced to his knees, and Mycroft willingly took that boy's prick in his mouth and I watched as he was used. Used and then left alone, to take care of himself. I didn't watch that, of course. I did listen, once. He was just so quiet through it all. I'd never known him to be so damn quiet."

"The school holiday lasted a fortnight. On the second-to-last evening, the boy brought another friend to visit for the night. That was the only time I heard Mycroft protest, the only time I heard any words spoken between them at all. Mycroft apparently believed them to be exclusive, and the boy laughed at him. Actually laughed, with my brother on his knees before him. The boy said that he was little more than a pretty toy with a talented mouth, and that he had promised his real boyfriend a treat, and didn't he think that it was time he served his purpose and did what he was told. So - he did. When they were done using him, I came into his room and I helped him clean up and I tucked him into bed and I read to him until he fell asleep."

"The next day, the bathroom door was shut and locked. I could've picked it, but - I wasn't welcome any more."

Greg reached up to caress Sherlock's face before wiping away his own tears. "God, baby. That wasn't it at all. Don't you see? He was ashamed, and he didn't want you to see him like that again. Imagine your nine year-old brother witnessing that, coming in afterwards to put you to bed. How would you feel?" Greg clenched his fists and put them to his eyes, rubbing furiously. "God! I just - _why_? Why does he feel so worthless?"

Sherlock's strong fingers tugged on his fists, pulling them away from his face. " _Did_ , Greg. Not anymore. He still has - issues, but I do not believe he thinks himself worthless. Not since coming to you. You stood up for him, you showed him that he was worth protecting. That he was worth your affection." Sherlock gently wiped away Greg's tears as John kissed his cheek, his neck, holding onto him tightly. "He's loved you a very long time, Greg. Almost as long as I have. He held back, not because of me, although that's what he tells himself. He held back because he felt he didn't deserve you."

" _Fuck_! Fuck that. Just - fuck it. Let me up. We're going to his office. Now."

Sherlock smiled widely, even as John sputtered uneasily. "Love, do you think that's wise? He obviously had something weighing on his mind, maybe you should give him time to deal with that first?"

"I'm not going to interfere with his job, John. I just - well, I stopped him making a declaration of his own because I felt the time wasn't right, but really, what better time than now? I need him to know what he means to me and I don't want to put it off any longer. He's waited long enough to feel worthy of anyone, and if I'm the one he wants to give his love to, then I need him to know that I would be honoured. And I need him to know that I love him in return."

John blinked as Sherlock slid off of Greg and to his feet. "All right. And why are we tagging along?"

Greg sat up and ruffled his silver hair as Sherlock 'tsk'ed at John. "Mycroft views himself as an intruder in our lives, John. He will have difficulty accepting Greg's statement, unless he knows that we are aware, and that we both approve wholeheartedly. And the best way to convince him of this is to tell him ourselves." Sherlock reached out a hand to both of his lovers, swiftly pulling them to their feet. "Come on. I want - " He looked down at his feet and blushed. "I want to see Mycroft happy again."

Then he clattered down the stairs, leaving Greg to collapse into John's arms. "Oh God. A sentimental Holmes. And soon there will be two of them..."

"All because of _you_ , love. Let's go. I rather think I'd like to see a happy Mycroft as well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tries to be helpful, and Anthea tries to be threatening... Greg manages to tell Mycroft what he wants him to know anyhow. :)

The ride to Mycroft's office was subdued, Sherlock clinging to John's hand as Greg stared out the window, only his twitching fingers betraying his nervousness. John looked between them both in bewilderment, taking in the faint smile on Sherlock's face and the distant frown on Greg's brow.

He reached for Greg's knee. "Love, are you all right?"

"I guess. I dunno, really. What if this really is just an arrangement for him?"

Sherlock scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous, Greg. He loves you desperately. I wouldn't be surprised if he starts blubbering uncontrollably."

Greg smacked his leg lightly. "Oi. You be nice. Even if he does love me, how do I know he won't refuse me to protect you? You take priority in his life, Sherlock. You know that."

"Hence the reason why John and I are coming along. Haven't you been paying attention? _Ow_!" Sherlock huffed as he turned to John. "Why does everyone keep hitting me?"

"Because you're being a colossal berk, that's why. Greg's just nervous."

"Am I not adequately enumerating the reasons why he should not be?"

Greg smiled gently. "I appreciate that you're trying to be helpful, baby. But there are times that a man just needs to fret. There is a part of me that does think that everything you're telling me is true. But I need to hear it from his lips to really believe it, y'know?" He glanced down at his hands, his fingers hopelessly twisted up in each other. "I do appreciate your support. Both of you. 'Course, that's just something else to fret about, in't it? What if this fucks us up?"

"Neither John nor I will allow that to happen, Greg. And if it came down to that, Mycroft would remove himself from the equation." Greg winced and John squeezed Sherlock's hand as the younger man paused, a sudden sadness casting a pall over his features. "Although I cannot say what may become of him if it were to come to that. Mycroft does tend to view himself with very little regard, for no reason that I can easily ascertain."

"Yeah, well... We're just gonna see what we can do to put a stop to that nonsense, right?" Greg lifted Sherlock's chin and winked as his lover's face brightened.

John suddenly laughed. "I feel like I'm in the middle of some sweeping romantic drama here. Something like, I dunno, Merchant and Ivory."

Greg chuckled. "We're missing the vast panoramic views of the Italian countryside, my sweet. Or any countryside, really... Hm. Maybe we should think about a holiday..."

"We could visit the manor."

Sherlock's casual remark stunned the other two men into a brief silence. "Oh sweet buggering fuck. I hadn't even _thought_ about meeting the in-laws! Christ! How would you even introduce us, baby? 'Hullo, Mummy, this here is John, my partner. And Greg, my other partner. Oh and by the bye, Greg's shagging your other son as well, all under the same roof.' Sweet bleeding _Christ_ , what would the dinner be like after that?"

Greg leant forward suddenly, grabbing hold of his head with both hands and resting his elbows on his knees, continuing to mutter to himself in a sort of low-grade frenzy. John turned an exasperated glare on Sherlock, who was looking far too pleased with himself. "And now you've nearly induced a bloody panic attack. What the hell..."

"Yes, well, it's taken his mind off of the possibility of Mycroft rejecting him, hasn't it?"

John sighed. "Oh my God. Love, I understand that you're trying to help, but trading one emotional freak-out for another is not the way to do that." Sherlock merely blinked at him uncomprehendingly until the cab came to a stop, whereupon he leapt out, and actually paid the driver, clearly eager to see his brother. John and Greg stared at each other, utterly still. It was only the sound of the cabbie clearing his throat that broke the odd tension that had built up and set the two men into motion once again.

"C'mon, love. Let's go make a scene." Greg grinned shakily and took John's hand, both of them following Sherlock into a rather imposing building. Neither John nor Greg had ever been to Mycroft's offices, so they let the younger Holmes take the lead, barely keeping up as he strode imperiously down long hallways and whipped around blind corners. They came around one such corner just in time to catch a glimpse of Sherlock's coat whipping through as a door closed behind him. John squeezed Greg's hand and led the way in, coming up short at the sight of Sherlock apparently conversing with Anthea at her desk.

She turned her dark gaze on the two men, and John unconsciously drew Greg a little closer and behind, acting as a shield between the man he loved and the woman who had so far remained an unknown quantity. He knew that she was dangerous, he could feel it. After so many years in the Army, that was the sort of thing that a man developed a certain instinct about. Although really, anyone who worked for Mycroft would no doubt be just as dangerous. John also knew that she hadn't yet done him any harm, but he knew better than to think that it couldn't happen. And the look that she was levelling at Greg right now... John straightened his shoulders and pulled Greg even closer.

He felt Greg's soft burst of laughter ruffle his hair, but he resolutely did not stand down. Greg released his hand in favour of wrapping an arm around his waist, leaning down to nose behind his ear. "Standing guard over my body, Captain Watson?" John clenched both his fists and his jaw. "God, I could just eat you up. It's all right, my love. She won't do anything to me. At least - not here."

John cast a quick sideways glance at his lover before focusing his complete attention on the woman behind the desk again. "I don't trust her." 

"As well you shouldn't, Doctor Watson." She pitched her voice low and deceptively sweet. "However, the good Detective Inspector is quite correct. I promise you that no harm will come to him." A small smile quirked at the corner of her mouth. "Here." John allowed himself to be gently pushed and prodded closer to her desk, still making sure that he was between her and Greg at all times. Sherlock looked on with puzzled amusement as Greg faced Anthea.

"No threats necessary, you know. I'm not going to let anything bad happen to him."

"I do not believe that you mean to hurt my employer, Mr. Lestrade. I just think it is better to have certain things out in the open, wouldn't you agree?" She glanced down at her desk momentarily. "In fact, I believe you to be quite good for him. I saw the way you stood up for him at the gala a while back."

"Ha. I _knew_ I had eyes on me, you shifty bastards." Greg's eyes suddenly narrowed, and John felt a tense shift in his body. "Come to that - you must have had eyes on all of My's playmates. Why didn't you step in and take care of that bloody...little... _weasel_?"

Anthea's eyes shone cold, and her lips twisted. "He forbade it, of course. While we do - keep tabs - on Mr. Holmes' private affairs, for the most part, we respect his wishes to keep it as discreet as possible. We would have interfered had the situation become dire."

"Oh? And how many bones need to be broken to make it _dire_ enough for you lot?" John reached out a hand to Sherlock as the younger man suddenly twitched awkwardly.

Anthea hissed, sucking in a quick breath. "Believe me, if it were up to me..." She threw her shoulders back and steadied herself. "Mr. Holmes is stronger than he believes himself to be. There is no lasting damage."

" _Bullshit_. That hand twitches like mad when he's nervous. Surely you must've seen it. And he has nightmares. Don't you stand there behind your bloody great desk and tell me that the man hasn't been damaged."

Her face had gone a bit pale and she looked at Greg uncertainly. "I haven't seen any tremors, no. And if I happen to be travelling with him, we have separate suites. I know many things about my employer, Detective Inspector. But I cannot say that I am - close - to him. There are things that he chooses to conceal, and I can only say that is for the best."

Greg's head cleared slightly as he glanced around, his eyes neatly pinpointing every spot where a camera may hide. "Are we even safe here? Have I said anything that will compromise his position?"

Anthea smiled then, a bright and genuine smile that lit up her face, causing the men gathered around her desk to stare in shock. She was clearly pleased that Greg seemed concerned for any potential impact on Mycroft's job. "Relatively safe, yes. And anything that you've said regarding his physical or mental condition will not leave this room. I can promise you that. In exchange for a promise of your own, of course."

Greg shook his head. "I can't promise you that he won't get hurt, Anthea. I can only promise to do my best. To keep him safe and to let him know how much he is cared for."

The smile widened as she stood. "That will suffice. Allow me to show you in." She paused. "There was a bit of a - situation - earlier. That has been dealt with for the most part, but there are still aspects to be worked out. I know that what you have to say to him is important, however, it would be best if you don't linger. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Anthea raised one eyebrow in response to Greg's cheeky wink before knocking on the Mycroft's office door. "Enter."

"Sir, you have visitors."

"Visitors? I'm far too occupied, Anthea. Send them away." Anthea smirked and started to close the door. Greg coughed lightly, hiding his smile behind his fist. "Wait - Gregory?" She swung the door wide and Greg stepped through, followed quickly by Sherlock and then John, the latter still eyeing Anthea suspiciously. She smiled faintly and closed the door behind them with a quiet click.

"Hullo, pet." Greg eyed Mycroft as he stood somewhat gingerly, taking in his long, lean form. He still hadn't donned his jacket as he was clad only in the waistcoat, his shirtsleeves folded and pushed up to his elbows. He looked a bit harried, perhaps, but definitely nowhere near as upset as he had earlier in the evening. "Were you able to solve your problem?"

"Indeed." His cool grey eyes flickered between all of the men uncertainly. "I'm still wrapping up the operation, however."

"I know. I'm not going to be long. There's just something that I had to tell you, and I couldn't do it over the phone."

"All right." Mycroft took a few steps forward, and Greg went to meet him, pressing a gentle kiss to Mycroft's cheek, frowning as his body stiffened and he neatly avoided his gaze. "Are you - " Mycroft took in a deep breath. "You're here to terminate our arrangement."

Greg blinked at him in confusion. "Why on earth would you think that?"

"My near confession earlier. I realise now that I overstepped my bounds, and I knew that you would discuss it with your partners and of course they would take offence and why shouldn't they, after all I'm just a playmate. Something to be disposed of once the novelty has been worn away. I'm spoiled and tarnished and you're ready for something shiny and new..."

Greg clasped his face in both hands. "Shut up. You fucking _idiot_." He drew Mycroft down for a solid kiss, waiting until his body moulded into his to let go of his head and slip his arms around his waist. Mycroft moaned low in his chest and let himself go a little limp, counting on Gregory's strength to hold them both up. He whined quietly as Greg broke off the kiss, tilting his head back a bit. "Goddamn Holmeses. So sure of your deductions, your fucking _guesses_ that you don't even consider other possibilities, do you? Even amongst yourselves. So much is simply assumed that you never bother to use your sodding words and ask. And how many times, Mycroft? How many times have I told you that you mean so much more to me than a bloody fucktoy? _How many_?"

Mycroft blinked rapidly. "I - I could not tell you, Gregory. The concept is rather new to me, and I still have difficulty believing it."

"Because of the arseholes that have come before, I know. And I know that you never asked anything else of them, or of me. I'm telling you now that you can ask anything of me that you wish. I will do what I can to make it happen, because I want you to be happy. I want you to be happy with me." 

"Gregory, I - " 

"I love you, Mycroft." Greg tightened his grip on Mycroft's waist as the taller man's knees wobbled, walking them both backwards a bit until he could lean the body tucked up in his against the large mahogany desk. Greg couldn't help but chuckle slightly as Mycroft hissed out his discomfort as his abused bum hit the hard surface.   

Greg loosened his hold a bit, allowing Mycroft to shift himself into a more comfortable position. "Sorry, pet. Guess I made a bit of a lasting impression earlier, yeah?"

Mycroft grinned crookedly and pulled Greg in close again, laying his head on his shoulder and burying his nose in his neck. "Gregory, I am so sorry that I doubted you. I had thought that perhaps you felt the same as I did, but of course I couldn't really allow myself to hope, not when you have other priorities..."

Greg tightened his hold again. "Hush, pet. You are a priority to me." They held each other for a long moment, Greg rocking their bodies together unconsciously. "Feel the same, hm? I told you how I feel, pet. You haven't told me."

"But you know. You've always known."

"I know nothing until you tell me, pet. That's the way communication works in the real world." Mycroft sat up and lifted a sceptical brow as he smiled at Greg. His face was composed, even if his eyes were a little wet. Greg heard a snort from behind him and shook his head slightly, anticipating what was to come.

"Told you. Blubbering like a baby." Sherlock's voice was quiet, but then it cut off completely as John clamped a hand over his mouth.

Mycroft's eyes flickered to where John and Sherlock stood huddled together and then back to Greg's face. He reached out to run his fingers lightly over his lips, heaving in a great sigh. "I love you, Gregory. I - _oomph_..." Mycroft giggled into Greg's mouth before closing his eyes and giving himself over to his exuberant kiss.

"See, now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Mycroft giggled again, leaning in to kiss Greg's cheek before trying to school his features back into something less frivolous. He kept failing, of course, because Greg refused to let him, darting in to lay little pecks on his face and neck. Greg finally relented when his pet started digging his fingers into his ribs, angling for his most ticklish spots, laughing as he retreated out of Mycroft's reach.

This time, both John and Sherlock snorted. John released Sherlock's mouth and went to Greg, pulling him down for a sweet kiss. "You two are quite disgusting." Then he went to Mycroft, who sat back and looked at him a little warily. John went up on tip-toe and clasped his upper arm before kissing his cheek. "Welcome to our odd little family, Mycroft." The elder Holmes blushed prettily, but still looked uncertain. "Honestly." He squeezed his arm. "Sherlock says you can cook - perhaps you'd do us the honour this Sunday? If you can spare the time, of course."

Mycroft's grey eyes sparkled. "I'd be delighted, John. Thank you."

"Come over whenever you'd like. I think we should perhaps work out a schedule as well - see what works best for all of us." 

Mycroft grinned easily. "This is more of that 'communication' thing, yes?"

John just snorted again as Sherlock impatiently but gently pushed him out of the way. Mycroft pulled him in without a second thought, putting their foreheads together. "Thank you, brother. Thank you for letting me have this."

" _Pfft._ As if anything would have kept Greg from you. Really, you do yourself a great injustice by not believing yourself worthy. If anyone here is unworthy of him, it is myself."

"Shush, little brother."

Sherlock hesitated. "And - I am sorry, Mycroft. For misinterpreting certain actions on your part when we were younger. I thought you meant to drive me away, and now I realise that you were attempting to protect me."

"The things you saw, Sherlock - my God. I was not exactly modelling how healthy relationships are supposed to work..."

"That wasn't your responsibility, and besides..." Sherlock lifted his head and turned slightly to look at Greg and John, who were simply holding each other, keeping far to the side to avoid listening in on the brothers' conversation. "I don't think you've taught me too badly after all."

Mycroft smiled faintly. "What Gregory said - it struck very close to home, did it not? We both assume so much - let's not do that to each other again."

"I quite agree. So you will come and cook on Sunday?" 

Mycroft's smile grew. "I do believe I've perfected my lasagne..." 

Sherlock scowled impressively. "No. You'll do a roast."

"Oh, will I?" 

"Yes, with Yorkshire pudding and those potatoes that I like."

"Hm. And peas?"

"Good God, _no_! Carrots. You know how I like them." 

"Indeed." There was a quiet knock on the door, and Mycroft glanced at his watch. "Damn. I must be getting on."

John came and took Sherlock by the arm. "See you later, Mycroft. Don't worry about the pudding for Sunday, we'll figure that part out on our own. Come on, love."

Greg swept back in and laid another kiss on Mycroft's mouth before gathering him up in his arms again. " _Mm_. Come to me tonight, pet. Doesn't matter how late. Bring clothes for tomorrow. I want to sleep with you in my arms." Mycroft simply nodded, not trusting his voice. "Oh God, pet. I love you."

Mycroft clutched at him, trying to convey the depths of his feeling by touch alone. "Tonight, Gregory. And I love you."

Another swift kiss, a wink and a cheeky tongue-waggle before Gregory was joining his partners at the office door. They all gave a silent goodbye, either with waves or smiles or winks, and then were gone.

Mycroft sat on the edge of his desk for a moment longer, until the buzz of his mobile shook him out of his reverie.

_'On my way to yours - which suit would you like for tomorrow? -A'_

Mycroft laughed aloud as his fingers danced over the keypad. _'How presumptuous of you, my dear.'_

_'Yes. And? -A'_

_'The grey with blue pinstripes, please.'_

_'Excellent choice, sir. -A'_

_'Of course. Do hurry back. Much still to do.'_

_'I know, sir. And we don't want to keep him waiting... -A'_

_'Hush, witch.'_

Mycroft could almost hear her laughter in his head as he stood and once again, quite gingerly, took his seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heading to Baker Street, Mycroft ponders. And is propositioned by - well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to break up the chapter I'm working on because there's no way I'd be able to post it in its entirety before the end of the week, and I wanted to post *something*! So have a teaser. Yay!
> 
> I guess I lied a bit earlier, now I'm seeing at least a couple chapters to go before I'm able to transition this bit into part 5 of the saga. Oh, darn - more story!
> 
> I do have a warning for this particular chapter - there is a *hint* of Holmescest. I'm not entirely sure if my story will actually turn in that direction or not, but the idea has taken root in the depths of my sick and evil little brain, so I have a feeling that it may. I will add the proper tags and will warn beforehand if it does. 
> 
> Until then, my lovelies...
> 
> (Please comment, feedback is life!)

It was quite late before Mycroft was able to leave his offices and head toward Baker Street. He had decided to take his own car, rather than to rouse his driver at some unknown hour of the morning. He found the uncertainty of it all rather exciting. Despite all of his wildest imaginings leading him to this very point, he had no idea what to expect when he came to 221B.  
   
Amazing how three stupid little words can change the course of your destiny. Three stupid little words spoken in Gregory's tender growl that had speared him right through the heart. Three stupid little words that he wanted to hear every damn day for the rest of his life. Mycroft glanced over at the overnight bag sitting on the passenger seat, his suit carrier draped over it innocently. For some odd reason, a passage from Dickens' _A Christmas Carol_ kept reverberating through his head.  
   
 _"I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolboy. I am as giddy as a drunken man."_  
   
A vision of him cavorting about as Scrooge, clad in his very-best dressing gown, doing a wild jig for no-one in particular filled his head, and Mycroft let out a loud snort. No wonder he had always counselled caution for his younger brother when it came to personal relationships. Apparently, having your love unambiguously returned turned people into damn fools. But that had been before, hadn't it? Before Gregory had touched Sherlock in some indefinable way, turning him away from his apparent determination to destroy himself.  
   
Before Mycroft himself had confronted the good Detective in his own garage, half-naked and smeared with grease from that blasted motorbike. He had seen him then, seen that heady combination of strength and wildness tempered with an astounding amount of gentle caring. He had been struck quite dumb by the man, and had most likely fallen in love with him on the spot. If he was going to be maudlin about it, clearly Destiny had meant to entangle one Gregory Lestrade into the lives of both Holmes men quite completely.  
   
 _'Absurd. You're being a romantic fool, Mycroft.'_ As he pulled up to the kerb at Baker Street, a quiet little voice, a voice that sounded suspiciously like a much younger Sherlock, said, _'What of it? Why not be a fool, if it makes you happy?'_ Mycroft sighed quietly as he turned off the ignition, his own internal adolescent voice responding to the innocent query. _'Because, Sherlock my dear, that is not what we were made for. We are Holmeses. We are meant for greater things.'_  
   
Mycroft removed his items from the car and stood on the pavement for a little while, just staring at the knocker, waiting for it to morph into a ghost of his own past. Some portent, Josef's cold face, perhaps, to warn him of his potentially dismal future if he did not step through, move forward with head held high. This was different than any other moment that he had stepped through that door, and he knew it. Although it was rather ridiculous, to dither and doubt himself now, after Gregory had outlined in no uncertain terms just how he felt. And with John and Sherlock having been there to support their partner in his noble quest, any concerns that he had regarding Gregory's relationship with his primary partners had been neatly assuaged.  
   
It was that other voice, the one that spoke to him in a world-weary croak, the one that sounded so like his long-dead father. That niggling, whining tone telling him that it didn't matter, that he didn't matter, that nothing he ever did would count for anything in this world so why not just give it up, give in. Mycroft shook his head forcefully, half-turned from the door, staring at his shoes as he shifted his grip on his overnight bag.  
   
Suddenly he was aware that light was streaming out over the pavement from the hallway of 221B. Light that was quickly blocked by the lanky form of his younger brother, who stepped out to greet him in his floppy pyjamas and dressing gown. He kept his eyes on his shoes, until Sherlock's bare feet came into view. He couldn't help but smile gently as he watched his brother's long toes wiggle against the coolness of the concrete. Sherlock reached out silently and divested him of the weight of his small satchel before lifting his other hand to his face, raising Mycroft's chin so that he could look him in the eye before poking his forefinger into the centre of his elder brother's forehead.  
   
"Stop listening to him. He was nothing but a fatalistic _arse_ hole." Mycroft blinked at Sherlock, not at all surprised that he knew the tenor of his thoughts. For all he knew, his little brother had that same damn voice in his head as well. "Just because he couldn't feel doesn't mean that we need to turn ourselves into lifeless statues as well. We both know where that got him." Sherlock's lip quirked slightly as he ran his finger down the bridge of Mycroft's nose to his chin and along his jaw. "You would always say that we were meant for greater things." He tweaked his brother's ear gently. "The man waiting for you upstairs is the greatest thing you could ever hope for, and you _know_ that. Stop waffling. You will go to him and you and he will make your tremulous words from earlier this evening into something solid and real and you will never have to doubt yourself again."  
   
Mycroft raised one elegant brow and smirked slightly. "Sherlock."  
   
Sherlock rolled his eyes before pulling Mycroft's forehead into his. "Yes, I know. Romantic twaddle. But that doesn't make it any less true, and you know it."  
   
Mycroft stiffened slightly as Sherlock's warm, sweet breath ghosted over his lips as he spoke. He inhaled cautiously, taking in the subtle aroma of wild forest underlying the sharp scent of citrus and cinnamon. How often had he waited until his little brother had succumbed to sleep in his bed to lean down and bury his nose in the soft mass of unruly curls, just to catch a hint of that scent?  
   
Sherlock hummed quietly, and Mycroft could swear he felt the air between them vibrate with it. The dark-haired man shuffled just a bit closer and tilted his head, running his nose slowly over Mycroft's cheek before dipping it into the hollow of his neck. His free hand came up to caress his brother's soft red hair, patting him gently until his body sagged minutely and his face dropped into Sherlock's shoulder. After a long moment of holding his breath, Mycroft shifted slightly, sliding his head to mimic Sherlock's posture. They stood together, nearly embracing, breathing in each other's scent and heat. Sherlock hummed again, and Mycroft's body shivered with exquisite pleasure.   
   
Sherlock chuckled darkly as Mycroft suddenly pulled away, his posture stiff and unyielding. "How intriguing. I always wondered why I found Earl Grey tea to be so - stimulating." His brilliant blue-green eyes glinted in the low light of the nearby streetlamp. "Apparently, we are far more alike than either of us were quite aware."   
   
"Sherlock." Mycroft's voice held a note of stern caution, a warning that the younger Holmes blithely ignored.  
   
"Oh, for God's sake, Mycroft. Since when have we ever been bound by societal norms?" He moved in a slow circle around his brother, stopping at his back to lean in close to his ear, letting him feel just the barest touch of his burgeoning erection. "I'll not push you into anything, brother mine. Just - consider it."

"There is nothing to consider, Sherlock. We are _brothers_."

Sherlock 'tsk'ed quietly. "Mycroft. You and I both know that we've always been more than just brothers. We are the _same_ \- two halves of one misbegotten, broken creature. I do wonder what kind of a beast we would create if we were to join ourselves together again?" With that enigmatic query, he led the way into 221B, waiting until Mycroft followed to close the door firmly behind them both.  
   
Sherlock stopped at the first landing, turning slightly to hand Mycroft's bag back to him silently. With nothing but a gentle curve of his lips, he nodded up the stairs and then disappeared into the sitting room. Once Mycroft was certain that he was gone, he slumped against the wall, his legs trembling minutely. Good God, where had that even come from? The very idea! No. Just - _no_. Even if the lingering smell of his little brother was making him ache deep inside... No.

He shook his head firmly and looked toward the attic door. Gregory. Yes - Gregory was waiting for him. He would take him out of his head, make these frankly preposterous ideas disappear. Gregory would take care of him. With a soft smile, Mycroft began to climb the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is giggly, and Greg is overwhelmed by his cuteness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly fluff and smut, but that's what I'm good at!
> 
> (At least, I think I am. :) Comments always welcome!)

He opened the door quietly, having the notion that Gregory would most likely be asleep due to the lateness of the hour. Mycroft felt his breath catch as he looked toward the bed and saw his lover lying on his side, his naked back on display as he breathed in deep and even. He carefully laid his things on the desk chair and toed off his shoes before removing his suit jacket and carelessly tossing it on top of the desk.  
   
Gregory was curled in on himself slightly, one arm thrown over the empty expanse of bed, the sheet rucked down low over his hips. With a quirk of eyebrow and lip, Mycroft realised that his whole body was quite bare. He pondered only momentarily before gently lifting the sheet to gaze on Gregory in all his glory. He did not know how long he stood there, utterly transfixed by his lover's beauty as he debated internally. He was sleeping so peacefully, it would be quite the treat in its own right if he were to just slide into bed next to him and fall asleep himself. However, what a lovely surprise it would be for Gregory if he were to wake with his pet's clever mouth on him...    
   
A silky chuckle startled him out of his reverie and Mycroft dropped the sheet guiltily. "Going to perpetrate foul and unnatural deeds upon my unconscious person, pet?"   
   
Mycroft blushed bright crimson. "I was - considering it, yes."  
   
_"Mm."_ Greg turned over slightly and pulled himself up a little higher in the bed, letting the sheet slide down as he moved, exposing himself completely. "A man after my own heart..." He eyed Mycroft with sleepy interest, raising one hand to gesture at him vaguely. "You. You should be naked. Why aren't you naked?"  
   
Mycroft's blush deepened impossibly as he started to work the buttons on his waistcoat loose. "I am sorry, Gregory. I found myself - distracted. I did not mean to wake you."  
   
"Just a little catnap, pet." He stretched languidly, watching as Mycroft stripped down quickly and rather messily, piling his clothes on top of the desk haphazardly.  
   
Mycroft noted his surprise with a tiny quirk of his lips. "They were already wrinkled from earlier, so..."  
   
Greg chuckled again and then his brow furrowed. "How is it, pet? I didn't hurt you too badly, did I?"  
   
Mycroft let out a quiet sigh as he shook his head slightly. Instead of answering, he came to stand by the side of the bed and turned around. There was a bit of bruising, but nothing to compare to the marks that had been left behind by previous partners. Mycroft shivered as he felt the first of Gregory's soft touches, his fingertips tracing the faint blue-purple outline of certain paddle-marks.  
   
"Oh, pet. I'm - "  
   
Mycroft swiftly turned around and pressed his lips to Greg's desperately. " _Hush_ , Gregory. Just hush." He put one knee onto the mattress as they kissed, intending to climb into the bed with his lover.  
   
"Wait. Just - just a moment." Greg lifted the chain from his neck and Mycroft went up on his knees to allow him access to the cock-cage. Once it was unlocked and removed, Greg made a show of putting both it and the key aside. He placed his hands on Mycroft's face and kissed him tenderly. "Mycroft. Do you understand?" The red-haired man nodded mutely, too overcome to speak. Tonight, they were not a pet and his master. Tonight, they were simply two men who loved each other.  
   
Mycroft giggled slightly as he rolled over Greg's body, pulling him down on top of him. Greg grinned down at him with delight, his dark eyes twinkling as they took in his gleeful expression. Mycroft giggled again, feeling more than a little embarrassed. "I feel so - odd, Gregory. I don't even know what to do with myself."   
   
"Oh, Mycroft, my sweet. Don't analyse it to death. Just do what you feel." Mycroft's eyes widened briefly, and then Greg gasped as he slithered and twisted and he was suddenly on his back with his pet sitting astride him, grinding down hard. "Oh, fuck, yes." He arched up into the man above him and then grinned wickedly before surging upward and back, driving Mycroft into the mattress at the foot of the bed.  
   
Mycroft moaned as Greg laid the full weight of his body down on him. He wrapped long limbs around him and just held on as Greg squirmed and wriggled, biting down gently on his collarbone. Mycroft loosened his hold somewhat reluctantly as Greg bucked against his arms, allowing him to sit up slightly. Greg tilted his head and seemed to regard the man beneath him with a serious air. Mycroft found himself swallowing nervously, but then all his breath left him in a sharp gasp as Greg dug his fingers into his sides, just under his ribs.  
   
Mycroft squealed as Greg tickled him relentlessly, doing his damnedest to ignore the long limbs that were thrashing and pushing against him. Mycroft finally managed to get a foot against his chest and shoved hard, heaving Greg away from him. Greg landed softly against the headboard, with an exaggerated _'oof'_. He grinned again as Mycroft flopped back, still giggling madly and trying to catch his breath.  
   
"You sneaky, evil, underhanded bastard!"  
   
"Aw, that's why you love me, though, in't it?"  
   
"I love you for everything that you were, are and will be. So, yes, I imagine evilness is ranked somewhere on the list."  
   
Greg's eyes sparkled as he slowly got to his knees. "Jesus, Myc. You have no idea how good you look right now. All pink and giggly and - happy. I could just - _devour_ you, for fuck's sake."  
   
Mycroft's eyes widened innocently as he leant back on his elbows, letting his knees drop open slowly. "Aw, is the big bad wolf hungry?" He giggled again as Greg's eyes narrowed and his grin sharpened. "Come and get me, Wolfie. Red's waiting for you..."  
   
He let out another burst of laughter that melted into a luscious groan as his lover crashed into him, melding their bodies and their mouths together, a flash fire of heat that trickled into a slow burn as Greg gentled his motions, turning their boiling passion down to a bare simmer as he explored Mycroft's mouth thoroughly.  
   
He pulled away slightly, eyes dark and fierce. "Would you play Red Riding Hood for me?"  
   
"With the basket of goodies and all." Mycroft bit his lip and smiled slightly. "And you - would you be willing to perhaps lend an air of authenticity yourself?"  
   
"Erm... How..."  
   
"Ears and a tail."  
   
Greg blinked and tilted his head. "That sounds positively ridiculous." He shook his head slightly and glanced toward the wardrobe obliquely.   
   
Mycroft giggled quietly. "We could turn the camera off if you'd prefer not to have it on record, my dear."  
   
"It's just that - well. John sometimes likes to, um, review our, uh, sessions, and - _hrm_."  
   
Mycroft's eyes widened and a swift thrill of arousal spiked in his belly. "Oh. Oh, but that's _perfect_ , Gregory." He grinned wickedly. "He could join in as the Woodsman, don't you see? He wouldn't be quite in time to prevent poor Red from being ravished by Wolfie, and he'd be so angry that he'd give Wolfie quite a thrashing for being such a horrible beast. And Red would be oh-so-grateful..."  
   
"Oh my God, Mycroft... You are going to kill me with that filthy mind of yours. So very dirty and so damn - cute."  
   
Mycroft's grin sharpened as he watched Greg considering the idea carefully, his eyes going somewhat distant. "You cannot deny that the idea has potential, my dear."  
   
"Oh, undoubtedly. But - just us, for now." He looked down at Mycroft seriously. "I think that there may come a time when John will be able to join us occasionally, but I don't think Sherlock is ready to grant permission quite yet. And John, well - he's a bit more straightforward. I'm not sure how he'd react to the role-playing aspect."  
   
Mycroft frowned slightly. "But you've played Captain and Private..."  
   
"Oh, that's different. He _was_ a Captain. In many ways, he still is. No play-acting requir - wait..." Greg drew back and quirked an eyebrow. "How do you even know about that?" Mycroft's eyes dropped and he put a hand to his mouth sheepishly. "The cameras. Motherfucker."  
   
"It was from before - before I came to you. I swear."  
   
"It's all right, My. I knew better than to think you'd be able to resist the temptation. You are such a naughty creature, after all. An incorrigible pervert all wrapped up in an unassuming prim and proper package. Quite the devastating combination..."  
   
"Especially once that package presents itself to you outfitted in a red velvet capelet and flirty little skirt."  
   
Greg's mouth dropped open and he stopped stock-still. "Flirty - little - what?" His voice was quite breathless, and Mycroft squirmed against him wantonly.  
   
"Skirt. Well, I call it a skirt, but really... Damn thing flips up at the back rather indecently." He wriggled some more as Greg ground down into him unconsciously. "I have stockings too." Mycroft pulled himself up slightly as he stretched out one long leg, caressing himself about mid-thigh. "Come up to here. White, with pretty little red bows on." He shrugged innocently. "I could bring them along, I suppose. Only if you think you'd be interested, of course."  
   
Greg's mouth snapped closed with a tiny little snarl and he turned dark, utterly hungry eyes on the man playing coy beneath him. "Oh, yes. Yes, bring the ears and whatever else as well. Bring it all, and we'll play your nasty little game. I find myself rather - intrigued."   
   
"Oh, I can guarantee you that you'd have a grand old time. In fact..." Mycroft blushed prettily. "I do believe that Red would have Wolfie _howling_ before too long." Greg growled low with a sharp grin and buried his nose into Mycroft's neck before biting down hard. Mycroft arched into him with a loud gasp. "Oh, yes. There's my beast." Greg growled again, licking and nipping along his pet's collarbone and down his sternum, taking a minor detour to lavish attention on one nipple and then the other.  
   
Mycroft writhed, finally wriggling free from Greg's grasp. He crawled on hands and knees back to the head of the bed, looking over his shoulder to make sure that Greg's eyes were fixed exactly where they should be, on his pert little arse. With a quiet hum, Mycroft settled back on the pillows and reached for a bottle of lube. "I want you inside me, Gregory. Would you like to watch me open myself for you?"  
   
Greg pounced on him once again. "No. I want to do it." He snatched at the bottle, and Mycroft shivered with delight. It showed every sign of being a fast and hard night, the kind of night that left gorgeous marks and a wondrous soreness in his muscles the next day. But Gregory surprised him by gathering Mycroft close as he spread his legs, kissing him tenderly as his broad fingers circled gently and dipped inside him slowly, steadily. He buried his nose in Mycroft's neck and breathed in deeply. "Oh _God_ , Myc. I love you so much. I'm so very happy that you decided to come to me."  
   
Mycroft clutched at him, struggling to speak through soft gasps as Gregory worked him open. "Gregory, my love. I haven't the words to express the depth of my feeling toward you. I - _oh God_."  
   
"Of course you have the words, you silly thing. They're really very small, so you shouldn't have too much difficulty spitting them out. Go on."  
   
Mycroft rolled his eyes, but smiled through his panting breaths. "I love you, Gregory. I - I - well good Christ, what are you _doing_ to me?" He threw his head back, holding on to Greg's shoulders as he writhed and bore down on his lover's hand.   
   
"I want to watch you come on my fingers. And then I'm going to clean you up with my tongue, and then I'm gonna sink in so deep that you'll feel me in your bloody _ribcage_. And you're gonna make me come so hard because you look so fucking gorgeous and you feel so good that I just won't be able to hold myself back. And then I'm fairly sure that we're both gonna pass out and I get to sleep with you in my arms, Mycroft, I get to hold you all night and sweet Lord I can't even tell you how good that will be."  
   
"Oh - oh, _Gregory_... I - oh Jesus." Mycroft moaned as Greg crooked his fingers and pressed upward firmly.   
   
"That's it, Myc. Fuck, you're beautiful."  
   
Mycroft rocked his hips a bit faster, drawing Greg down. "Kiss me, Gregory. Oh God." Greg was only too happy to oblige, his tongue unconsciously mimicking the tempo of his fingers as he worked it into his pet's mouth. Mycroft kissed him breathlessly, mashing their lips together hard, until his eyes squeezed shut and he let out a wordless yell against Greg's lips. He dug his fingers into his lover's back as he came, leaving half-moon marks in the smooth skin. "Gregory... Oh. Oh, my dear - how I love you."  
   
Greg laughed quietly as he worked Mycroft's grip on him loose with one hand, keeping the other exactly where it was, buried deep inside him. Mycroft giggled as Greg bent down to clean his stomach with long, wet strokes of his tongue, hissing slightly with discomfort as Greg sucked the head of his cock into his mouth and licked that clean as well.  
   
"Sensitive, darling?"  
   
"A bit, yes. But that will pass."  
   
Greg nodded toward the bedside table and the supplies that had been laid out. "Open one of those for me, would you please?"  
   
Mycroft fiddled with the condom packet briefly and Greg looked up from his task of cleaning up the one streak of come that had splashed as high as Mycroft's chest. "Gregory - I wish..."  
   
"I know, my love." Greg tilted his head. "I think - well, I think that we may have the opportunity soon. John didn't say anything specific, but he had a look about him after our little meeting at your office. I think he might be willing to rescind his restrictions." Mycroft squealed, and Gregory quirked an eyebrow. "I swear to God, you're so fucking _cute_ right now, I feel like my head is going to explode."  
   
"I am sorry, Gregory. I let my excitement get the better of me."  
   
"I'm not saying it's a bad thing, Myc. In fact, I'm liking it quite a bit. Anyway, if we ask, I think he might be okay with it. We'll probably have to get tested again and bring him the results first, though."  
   
"Oh, Gregory, I would be more than willing to wait for test results if it meant I could finally feel you the way you're meant to be felt. Bare and hot and so very _hard_ , smooth velvet skin over steel, oh my..." Mycroft wriggled against him and moaned low. "And when you come, Gregory, oh, when I feel you twitch and pulse oh so deep inside and then fill me up, so hot and sticky and, and - _hot_ , oh God... Oh Christ above, you don't even _know_ , Gregory. I'll feel so, so - complete."  
   
"Pet." Greg's voice was little more than a deep snarl. "If you don't get that blasted thing open and wrap me up right now, then you sure as fuck aren't going to feel anything but me coming all over your belly because you have pushed me right to the brink I swear to fucking _GOD_."

Mycroft's eyes widened and his mouth formed a tiny 'o' before pulling Greg's head down to his chest and caressing him gently. "Hush, Gregory. We'll just take a moment, yes? I'm terribly sorry that I got you so worked up, I took no notice of the effect my words were having on you. I seem to have lost all semblance of self-control and I simply have no idea what to do about it. I am - adrift."

Greg huffed out quiet laughter before shifting slightly, once more burying his nose in Mycroft's neck and inhaling deeply. "Then I'll just have to anchor you." He wiggled the fingers he had kept buried in his lover's arse, humming low as Mycroft gasped and his body arched. "You just hold on to me, Mycroft, and we'll figure it out together." Mycroft wordlessly tightened his hold.

After a few minutes had passed, he started to fidget. "Do you believe you have sufficiently calmed down, my dear?"

Greg pushed himself up on one arm. "I think so, yeah. Why?"

"Because I'd rather like for you to get worked up again." Mycroft held up the condom packet, ripping it open deftly.

Greg laughed as he went up on his knees, gasping quietly at the touch of his lover's nimble fingers. "You are an incorrigible tart, Mycroft Holmes." He pressed a swift kiss to his lips as more lube was applied. "Never change."

Mycroft's grey eyes twinkled as he smiled up at Greg. "Never." He quirked an eyebrow. "Now. I suggest you replace those fingers with that lovely thick hard cock." The last few words were punctuated with sharp nibbles on neck and ear and Greg groaned. Mycroft whined slightly as Greg finally withdrew his hand, but moaned when he felt the blunt head of his lover's cock probing at his entrance. "Oh, Gregory - _please_."

"Anything you wish, my love." They moaned in unison as Greg pushed in all the way with one long sure stroke. He stilled momentarily, pulling Mycroft's body in to his tightly. "Say it, Mycroft. Please. I need to hear you say it."

Mycroft trembled slightly, bringing his mouth to Greg's ear. "I love you." He moaned as Greg's body shuddered and he seemingly grew inside him. "Gregory. Oh, it feels different, I feel - more, somehow. I love you." Another moan as Greg started to move within him, in strong, deep thrusts. "Oh God, _yes_. Gregory, please."

"Again, pet."

"I love you." Another delicious shudder as he seemed to get harder, thicker. "Oh God. It's so much - more..." Greg's breath hot on his neck as he began to move faster, but no less deep. Mycroft held on as best he could, his body jolting as he tried to match Greg's thrusts. " _Gregory_... Love."

Greg growled. _"Again."_

Mycroft moaned and slid a hand down between them, wrapping his fingers around his cock as he latched on to Greg's ear and began whispering it over and over, his voice quickly going thready as his lover glanced down to watch him pull himself off. He came for the second time with a strangled shout, a garbled phrase that may have been another 'I love you', but Greg was too far gone to appreciate it.

His dark eyes burned as he watched Mycroft shiver himself to pieces underneath him. "Mycroft. You're so beautiful." Mycroft moaned and clenched down hard as his orgasm overtook him, and he carried Greg right along with him. "Oh, Myc - yes, oh Jesus - _fuck_!" He thrust in deep and stayed there, pulling his pet into him even tighter. Both men stopped breathing for a moment, rushing back into their bodies with sharp intakes of air.

Greg's head dropped onto Mycroft's chest and they panted together silently. After a while, Greg slid down a bit further, slipping out of his lover as he made himself more comfortable. Mycroft played with his hair and giggled slightly. "Best not fall asleep like that, my love. We'd both be rather unhappy when we wake up."

Greg grumbled, but rolled off the bed, coming to his feet and holding out a hand for Mycroft to grasp. "You too, my sweet. Let's get ourselves cleaned up and tucked into bed." Mycroft giggled again, repressing the urge to clap like an overexcited child. They stood next to each other at the small sink, wiping themselves down and taking turns to clean their teeth.

Gregory shifted sideways to view himself in the tiny mirror. "How would the tail even work?" Mycroft nearly choked on his toothpaste. "The ears I can imagine, must be a headband, but a tail?" Mycroft took his hand and led him back to bed, snagging his mobile out of the desk drawer along the way.

He swiftly pulled up a website and passed his phone over to Greg as he got the sheets settled. Greg blanched and sputtered next to him. "Puppy play? What in the name of all that is holy are you getting me into, Mycroft?"

"Just a bit of fun, Gregory. I have no intention of putting you on a leash, my dear. I'm _your_ pet, after all. This is just to show you how the tail will, ah, work." He scrolled down a bit. "See? They have quite the impressive array, don't you think?"

"Oh. They're plugs. You could've just said."

"But then I would have missed your glorious reaction...."

"Har-de-har-har, funnyman." Greg scrolled down a bit more. "Oh, look - there's you."

Mycroft's eyebrows shot up. "Pardon?"

Greg tilted the phone so Mycroft could see. "Red fox. Nimble and clever."

Mycroft smiled. "I see. And Sherlock?"

"Some great black cat. Sleek and smart, but lazy."

"I do believe you've cut right to his core, my dear. John?"

"Bulldog, of course. Fierce, sturdy - loyal. And so very, very British." Mycroft giggled again. "Oh, but they have such stubby little tails. Wouldn't really make for a good one of these, would it?"

Mycroft shook his head a little sadly. "No, I don't believe it would. Perhaps we could make him a Cocker spaniel instead?"

Greg chuckled. "Too friendly." His brow furrowed as he continued to scroll, debating the possibilities. "Oh!" He giggled madly. "A Pomerian! Tiny, just as fierce as any old bulldog, nasty bitey creatures. And with such floofy tails! Oh, sweet Lord, could you just imagine..."

Mycroft took his phone back as Greg slipped into a sort of trance, no doubt seeing a certain small ex-soldier equipped with a fluffy blond tail in his mind's eye. Mycroft shook his head slightly with a quiet laugh and slid down into the pillows, scrolling back and forth rapidly. Greg sighed as he came back to the present and snuggled down next to him. "Mycroft. What have I said about having that blasted device in bed?"

"That it serves as nothing but a distraction and that you understand that sometimes I must attend to certain matters of state but that if you feel that I'm just 'fucking around', as you so colloquially put it, that you would rip it out of my hand and go chuck it in the toilet."

"Too right. So why is it still in your hand?"

"I thought that since I already had the site up, it would be most expedient to place my order now."

"Order?"

"Ears and a tail. Is that not what we agreed upon?"

"I thought you already had those things, Mycroft."

"Wrong colour. I need a set in distinguished silver, now, don't I?"

"Just how many of these things do you have?"

Mycroft gave him a long look. "Let's just say you are not the first person to compare me to a red fox, my dear. Shall we leave it at that?"

Greg rolled toward him. "No, we most certainly shall _not_." He darted in to nip at the end of Mycroft's nose. "Do you still have it? The fox tail?" Mycroft made a sort of non-committal noise. Greg chuckled. "One day, we're going have a field trip out to yours, and you're gonna show me all the nasty tricks you have hidden away."

Mycroft blushed and tapped a final button. "Order placed. Should be arriving around the time those test results come in. What do you think, my dear? Should we celebrate our fluid-bonding with a dirty little game of Red getting all eaten up by Wolfie?"

"I think that we shouldn't get ahead of ourselves." He watched as Mycroft tucked his phone back in the drawer and then snuggled up close, pulling his head down to his chest. Greg ran his fingers through his pet's soft red hair and yawned mightily. "And yes, I think Wolfie would like nothing more than to see his load dripping out of poor Red's terribly abused bum."

Mycroft's body shuddered violently. "Gregory, you are a decidedly wicked man. I love you more than words can say."

"I'm the wicked one? You just ordered a furry tail attached to a sodding buttplug. And I'm going to wear it for you! If that isn't love, then I don't know what to call it."

"Insanity, perhaps?"

Greg chuckled before stretching out to turn off the lights. "One and the same, my love." Mycroft giggled in return, blindly seeking out Greg's mouth to kiss him goodnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Mycroft's first official sleep-over...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So things are escalating... ;-p
> 
> Tell me what you think!
> 
> *kisses*

For his first official morning in 221B, Greg was unable to persuade Mycroft to dress in anything less than his pants, vest, full set of pyjamas, dressing gown, and bloody well slippers, thank you very much, you _heathen_. Greg himself wore his usual uniform for gadding about in the flat, which is to say - not much at all.

The main floor was nice and quiet, the other occupants either still fast asleep or tucked away in basement laboratories. As soon as Mycroft entered the kitchen, he began pulling out pans from the cupboards and provisions from the fridge.

"Would you like pancakes, Gregory?" His voice was hushed, striving to preserve the silence.

"Pancakes?" Greg tilted his head.

Mycroft blushed slightly. "A little indulgence that I picked up from my childhood - Cook was American, of all things. I'm not certain how she came to be in my parents' employ, but I do believe that she was the reason I was entirely too chubby from a very young age. I try not to indulge too often, because they do make me feel rather heavy and lazy for the rest of the day. And not to mention that maple syrup is hardly an easy thing to come by in the regular shops. Although, knowing my brother..." The elder Holmes dug around in the cupboards briefly, his eyebrows lifting with a knowing smirk as he pulled out a small leaf-shaped bottle. "Thought so. That boy and his sweet tooth." He turned back to Gregory and smiled shyly. "All of the ingredients are in store, and today is somewhat special, don't you think?" 

Greg shook his head slightly even as he pressed up against his back to give him a quick squeeze and a kiss on the nape of his neck. "It is special, I agree. However, I think bacon and eggs should be plenty, pet. After all, both of us have jobs to get to at some point this morning." Mycroft made a little face, and Greg chuckled at him as he settled down at the table with the paper. Either Mycroft seemed to like to make every meal he presided over quite the production, or he didn't relish the idea of having to leave. Greg smiled to himself.

It wasn't long after the heavenly smell of bacon wafted through the flat that John put in an appearance, idly scratching at his belly under his vest as he yawned. He went straight to the stove, watching Mycroft work with avid interest. Without much fuss, he casually wrapped an arm around Mycroft's waist and rested his head on his upper arm. Mycroft stiffened and tossed a look over his shoulder to Greg, who winked at him.

"Um. Good morning, John."

"Yes. Yes it is." He smiled gently before going up on tip-toe and kissing Mycroft's cheek. He gave Greg a look of his own. "That one never cooks, so this is quite a treat. Thank you." Greg stuck out his tongue and waggled it at John as he rolled his eyes.

Mycroft blushed and then nodded toward the kettle and the mugs he had laid out. "If you would be so kind?" John gave his waist a little squeeze before releasing him and started his own brand of magic, whipping up each man's idea of the perfect cup of tea.

John clicked the kettle on and then went to sit next to Greg, giving him a quick peck on the lips. "Listen, I was thinking... My? This is for you, too."

Mycroft turned from the stove with two laden plates and placed them in front of the two men. "I'm listening, John."

John's eyes widened briefly at the sight of perfectly fluffy eggs and equally perfect, crispy bacon as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "I was thinking - it's time for our regular round of testing anyhow, and if there aren't any nasty surprises, well... I can't think of a good reason why you two couldn't have your fun without any barriers in the way." Mycroft actually clapped his hands and giggled like a child as Greg grinned broadly. John huffed out a breath of laughter. "Only _after_ I see the results, of course."

"Of course." Greg pulled him in for a deep kiss. "You preempted us, love. We were going to ask about that very thing. So - _all_ restrictions will be off?"

John almost laughed at the tone of feigned innocence in Greg's voice. Instead, he settled for casting a very naughty glance at his lover before capturing Mycroft's wide grey eyes with his slate-blue. "Oh _yes_ , my love. You'll finally get the chance to see just how clever your pet's tongue can be when it's wriggling around in your arse."

Greg bit back a moan as Mycroft leant his weight on the table heavily. "Oh sweet Heaven. John - I could _kiss_ you."

John smirked as he slid out of Greg's grasp, walking around the table and standing close to Mycroft. "So why don't you?"

Mycroft gasped quietly and looked to Greg, who nodded emphatically. "Oh, yes, pet." The taller man licked his lips and looked down at John a little uncertainly before reaching out to cup his jaw in one hand. His tongue flickered out once again as he bent down and tentatively pressed his mouth to John's. With a quiet moan, the smaller man opened his mouth, inviting Mycroft in with no hesitation. He shuffled just a bit closer as he sealed their lips together, licking his way in gently. John suddenly surged upward on his toes, applying such force to his kiss that Mycroft would have fallen backward, had Greg not come up behind him.

Greg held onto Mycroft’s hips to support him as his body was rocked backward under the force of John attacking his mouth. Tugging aside the collar of both dressing down and pyjama top, Greg mouthed at the nape of Mycroft’s neck before opening his mouth wide and biting down lightly. Mycroft disengaged from John’s mouth with a sharp gasp, throwing his head back on Greg’s shoulder.

Mycroft's head was swimming quite alarmingly as both John and Greg licked and nibbled on his neck with increasing fervour. "John. Wait." John pulled away immediately, his eyes dark and fierce as he looked Mycroft over from top to toe. "Sherlock." John shook himself back into awareness and took a step back as Greg wrapped one arm around Mycroft's middle.

"Shit." John shook his head again, clenching his fists. "You're right. _Fuck_." He gestured vaguely downward. "He's in his lab. I think."

Greg cleared his throat quietly. "We could go ask him..."

John threw his lover a steely glance. "No, not like this. Not in the heat of the moment. He'll feel pressured to say yes, and I don't want it to happen like that."

Mycroft panted quietly as he recovered himself. "John is quite correct, Gregory. Why don't you and he retire to the bedroom and I'll do what I can to salvage your breakfast until you return?"

John bit his lip as Greg released Mycroft and went to take his hand. "Wait. Greg, I - " Greg waited patiently for John to work out the right words, watching as Mycroft silently put the plates into the oven on a low temp to keep them warm. "Do you think it would be all right if Mycroft just watched?" He reached out with his free hand to capture the redhead's wrist. "You're a part of this freaky little family now, you know? I don't want you to miss out. And I know how you like to watch..."

Mycroft smiled gently. "There will be time for that, John. When everyone is aware and fully consenting."

Greg tugged on John's hand. "No, just - _wait_... Dammit." He reached for his mobile on the counter and quickly typed out a message. "I'm going to ask. Anyone else, I'd go down there in person, but Sherlock..."

Greg smirked. "Yeah. That man and his damn texting..."

Mycroft felt a spike of desire deep in his core and breathed out a silent huff of relief that Gregory had already locked him back up. If this was going to happen, he would very much need the aid of his chastity device to keep himself under control.

_'Greg and I are feeling frisky, love. Any objections to letting Mycroft watch?'_

Sherlock's response was immediate. _'As long as he stays where he can see but not touch.'_

John visibly relaxed and showed the text to Greg before pulling Mycroft in close so he could see it as well. Greg grinned at his pet wickedly and ducked around John to give him a resounding kiss. Then he randomly grabbed at hands and arms before leading them down the hallway at a brisk pace.

Mycroft settled down on his knees as soon as they entered the  bedroom, his back to the wall next to the door. John glanced at him as he stripped off his shirt, smiling smugly as Mycroft's eyes widened and he sucked in a quick breath. Greg pulled the smaller man in for a deep kiss, his pants already discarded on the floor.

"John - why did the idea of leaving Mycroft behind upset you so much?"

John glanced at him again. "I dunno. I just - well, he's officially a part of this family now, and I just didn't like the idea of him being isolated, that's all." He turned to Mycroft and took a couple of steps to reach out and touch him, running his fingers through his soft red hair. "Greg isn't the only one who cares, My. You aren't alone any more. You and Sherlock - you'll _never_ be lonely again."

Mycroft bowed his head under John's gentle fingers, unable to bear looking into his eyes. Then Greg's strong hand was lifting his face, pressing a solid and loving kiss to his forehead as John drifted back to the bed, shedding his pants along the way. Greg winked as he released his pet and followed after his lover, climbing onto the bed and stretching out. John immediately clambered on top of him, reaching for the lube that was out on the bedside table. Before Greg could open his mouth and ask him how he wanted it, John pressed his body down hard and rubbed their cocks together.

"Quick, dirty - _hard_. Just rub off on me, Greg. Come on me and take me with you." He drizzled a little lube on his hand and then slicked up both cocks before grinding down and sliding up again. Greg growled low before flipping John over, starting to thrust against his taut belly hard and fast. "Jesus, _yes_. Just like that. Oh _fuck_."

Mycroft's cock twitched ineffectually as he watched, his entire body stiff with the tension of holding himself still. Gregory was truly magnificent to behold as he clutched and panted and moved above his lover, giving himself over to pure sensation. Mycroft was all-too-aware of the presence of his younger brother as he loomed quietly in the doorway, but did not even try to tear his eyes away from the vision unfolding on the bed.

Sherlock came to stand next to him, casually dropping his hand down onto his older brother’s head, petting him in a soft and somewhat mesmerising manner. Mycroft continued to hold himself stiffly, his hands fisted into the material of his pyjama bottoms. Once Sherlock’s long fingers began to move down to his neck, though, Mycroft suddenly slumped, unable to resist the terribly soothing sensation. He shuffled just a bit closer and let his left hand wander down to wrap around his brother’s ankle lightly.

Mycroft took in a deep breath and began to run his fingers over the top of Sherlock’s foot, along the instep, circling the protrusion of the inner ankle bone. Sherlock’s fingers dipped into the collar of Mycroft’s pyjama top as he caressed his neck and shoulders. Then his hand moved up suddenly and tightened in Mycroft’s hair as John’s body stiffened and he came with a strangled cry.

Both Sherlock and Mycroft moaned low as Greg cursed and twitched, lifting himself up slightly to watch the long streaks of come splash out over John’s chest and belly. Sherlock sank down onto the floor next to his brother and leant his head on his shoulder, twining their fingers together and squeezing firmly. “Mycroft, _please_.”

Mycroft shook his head silently, clinging to his little brother’s hand. They watched together as the two men on the bed held each other, murmuring loving words and sharing soft kisses.

"We belong together, brother. You know it."

"It would be wrong, Sherlock."

"Oh no, brother dear. It would be so very, very - right."

Mycroft squeezed his brother's hand briefly and then let him go. "No."

Greg slipped off the bed and smiled as Mycroft instantly went up on his knees and held his arms out to him. Sherlock sighed and rose to his feet as his brother buried his face in Greg's belly. Greg frowned slightly as he caught the look on Sherlock's face and he pulled him in for a kiss. "Baby, what's wrong?"

Sherlock glanced down at the top of his brother's head and sighed again. "Nothing, Greg. Everything's fine. Just fine." With that he went to the bed and enveloped John with his body, ignoring the smaller man's protests.

Greg looked down at the man studiously licking at the dried mess on his stomach, his eyes shut in bliss as his tongue dragged over and across sensitive flesh. Greg chuckled quietly. "If you were a cat, I think you'd be purring right now, my love."

"If only I could. You and John together, oh, it's _divine_ , Gregory."

 _"Mm."_ Greg worked Mycroft's grip around his waist loose and pulled him to his feet. "We should clean up properly, get ready for work." He glanced toward the bed as he ushered Mycroft out of the bedroom. John had neatly flipped Sherlock over on his back and was busily divesting him of pyjama bottoms and pants using only his teeth. He grinned and shook his head as he shut the door behind them.

"Your breakfast, Gregory."

"After a quick shower, My. I'm all - sticky." He reached out to touch Mycroft's face. "You too, silly pet. You did get a bit excited, started rubbing all over me..."

"The two of you together, Gregory... Oh, I can hardly wait until I'm able to taste you both on my tongue - a proper taste. This was such a horrible tease, not knowing when I'll have that opportunity."

"Soon, pet. I have a feeling it will be very soon." He hesitated as he pulled Mycroft into the bathroom with him and started removing his clothing. "We're going to run into more situations like this, Mycroft. Where it will be you and Sherlock in the same room with naughty things happening. I need you to know where your boundaries are, pet, and you need to share those limits with me. And with John, if you're okay with that."

Mycroft nodded as Greg bent down to get the shower started. "As for Sherlock, well, I don't think he really has any boundaries. Or at least he's been unaware of them until he's already gone whizzing past any signposts and then we've all had to deal with the wreckage on the side of the road. So you need to be absolutely sure of how far you wish to take things with your brother present, and John and I will do what we can to rein him in, all right?"

Mycroft trembled slightly as Greg climbed into the tub and pulled him in after. "You're so good to me, Gregory. You and John both."

"I love you, and John cares deeply. We want you to be happy here, and despite Sherlock being, well - Sherlock, I'm sure he wants you to be happy too. It's just that all too often, he assumes that what makes him happy should naturally make everyone else happy too, and we all know what kind of a clusterfuck that can turn out to be."

Mycroft giggled as Gregory pulled him in close, ducking him under the spray with him. "Poor lad never did understand that concept - that people were different, that not everyone liked the same things he did. He _is_ the centre of the universe, after all."

Gregory chuckled. "Yes, well, you had your own hand in that, didn't you, pet? You were what - seven, when he was born? Had you any friends or playmates before he came round?"

Mycroft sobered. "No. I was a terribly lonely child, Gregory; you are quite correct. Everything changed when Sherlock came into being; it was as if he had been created just for _me_. He was mine, and I was his, and everything that I did from that point forward was just for him." Mycroft laid his head on Greg's shoulder as his lover ran soapy hands down his back and then lower. "We'd always been terribly dependent upon one another, and I'm afraid that my attempts to correct that as we got older backfired horribly. He suddenly saw me as cold and aloof; he withdrew and became resentful. It became a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy after that..."

Greg silently turned Mycroft around, pulling his back to his chest as he continued to wash him gently. "We're gonna fix all that, pet. One way or another." He manoeuvred their bodies so that Mycroft was standing under the spray, rinsing him quite thoroughly before handing the soap over to his pet. Mycroft grinned as he lathered up his hands. Greg tilted his head as he watched him.

"In many ways, you and Sherlock belong together, don't you?" Mycroft's body jolted as a reflection of his brother's words slipped out of his lover's mouth. He stared, wide-eyed. "Not necessarily in a sexual fashion, pet. It's just that you understand each other so completely. You have entire conversations with nothing more than meaningful glances, for fuck's sake. Mycroft, the connection that you and Sherlock share, it's far deeper than any brotherly bond and you _know_ it."

Mycroft dropped his eyes and began to let his soapy hands wander over Gregory's body. His mind was quickly becoming overwhelmed with too many conflicting thoughts and emotions, and if he did not find a way to settle it, he may just run screaming from the room, if not from the flat entirely.

Gregory sighed quietly. "If I didn't find the whole idea ridiculous, I would almost say that you and he are soul mates." Mycroft once again felt the panic rising, and stared at his lover pleadingly. Gregory quickly reached out to clasp his face. "I know, pet. I know. Just one more thing, all right?" Mycroft nodded, but Greg hesitated. "I just want you to know - the bond you do have, the love you _could_ have - I don't think it's wrong. It isn't sick or evil or perverted or any of the other horrible things you've been saying to yourself." He grinned crookedly. "Well, not more twisted than any of the other things we've already done or are planning to do to each other..."

Mycroft cracked a small smile before nodding once. "I understand, Gregory."

"Good." He groaned quietly. "Now kiss me, because the things you've been doing with those fucking hands of yours are driving me _crazy_."

Mycroft looked down in slight surprise, having been quite unaware of bringing Gregory back to fullness under his touch as he spoke. His smile grew as he leant in to lick his way into his lover's mouth, humming with satisfaction as Gregory's cock jumped in his hand. "How will you have me, Gregory?"

"Turn around, pet." Mycroft swiftly obeyed, pressing himself against the tile of the shower wall. There was a quiet click, and the smell of Sherlock's fancy citrus conditioner filled the small room. Mycroft almost laughed, thinking of Sherlock's potential reaction. Outrage that his things were being fiddled with, an element of his smell on both Greg and Mycroft, oh yes. The reaction that would elicit...

As uncomfortable as Gregory's speech had been, it had actually served to soothe some of Mycroft's trepidation. He wouldn't, of course - he couldn't. But at least now, if certain thoughts happened to cross his mind at inopportune moments, he would not instantly seek to chastise himself. No, he would simply let those thoughts wander through and out, rather than trying to imprison them in a little corner of his mind. And in that way, not letting the thoughts linger, perhaps, in time, they would dissipate. Perhaps.

Then all thoughts of his brother disappeared quite completely as Gregory tucked his body up close behind him, running the head of his deliciously hard prick along the cleft of Mycroft's arse. He slipped it in between his pet's thighs and began rocking back and forth in a firm and steady motion. Mycroft moaned and tensed the muscles in his legs, squeezing as tight as he could. Greg cursed quietly, licking and nibbling along Mycroft's spine. He gasped and tilted his head to the side, reaching back with one hand to caress Gregory's thigh and buttock, feeling the muscles tense and quiver under his fingers as he thrust fast and hard.

"Bite me, Gregory. _Please_ \- mark me, oh God." The man behind him needed no further invitation, and he sunk his teeth into Mycroft's exposed neck hard. Mycroft yelped with pleasure, his body relaxing, melting into his lover as he was taken. Gregory growled as he felt the submission in the long body pressed up against the wall, sinking his teeth in deeper as he stiffened and came, hot semen splashing against Mycroft's bollocks and running down his inner thighs.

Greg's knees wobbled dangerously and he leant heavily against Mycroft, using him to hold himself upright. After a long moment he released his hold on his pet's neck, hissing as he tasted blood. " _God_. Oh, God, Mycroft. I'm so sorry."

Mycroft simply hummed in contentment, the endorphins rushing through his body making him feel rather slow and stupid. Greg turned him around gently, smiling as he noted the distant look in his lover's eyes. "You're a little too far gone, aren't you, my love?" Mycroft sighed, and Greg chuckled as he went up on tip-toe to lick at the wound he had left behind. Mycroft's soft gasp and low moan hit Greg in the gut like a bomb, nearly setting him off again.

He took a flannel to the inside of Mycroft's thighs before rinsing himself off and turning off the now rather chilly water. He shook his head as he gently manoeuvred Mycroft's limp body out of the tub and into a sitting position on the toilet. _Quick shower, my arse. Greg, you are a goddamn idiot, thinking that you can get into the tub with another man and not end up getting messy all over again._ He quickly wrapped a towel around his waist as he worked on getting Mycroft somewhat dried off, standing him up and slipping his dressing gown over his arms.

There was a quiet knock at the door. "Greg? Um - we'd rather like to get cleaned up too, love."

Greg hastily tied Mycroft's dressing gown shut and sat him back down before opening the door. "Actually, I need your assistance for a moment, Doctor Watson." John looked up at him with concern, and Sherlock glared, catching a glimpse of his brother looking rather catatonic.

"What have you done to him?"

"Just a little bite, baby. That, um - broke skin." Greg winced as John sighed deeply and Sherlock's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Got a bit carried away, I guess..." John gently pushed past him and went to take a look at Mycroft's neck. His patient remained seemingly unaware as his head was turned one way and then the other, moaning low as John poked at his wound professionally, causing all the men gathered to shiver at the sound of it.

"It's not too bad, I'll just disinfect it and put a bandage on. No harm done, Sherlock. You can stop trying to kill Greg with your mind now. Honestly, such carryings-on..."

Greg smiled a little nervously as John began to attend to Mycroft. "You sound a little like Mrs. Hudson, love." John threw him a dirty look as Sherlock shoved past and surveyed the damage.

Sherlock huffed. "You're _never_ to touch him again, Greg. You're a horrible _beast_. I should have known better than to trust you with my brother."

Greg's mouth dropped open and he sputtered incomprehensibly before pulling himself back together again. "When he came to me, you could barely even stand to have him here in the flat and now you're saying that you can't trust _me_ with _him_?"

"That was before."

"Before what, precisely?" Greg narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. Sherlock's mouth snapped shut and he shot a glance at Mycroft, still sitting placidly, a large square of gauze taped firmly to the side of his neck. He looked back at Greg, and the older man saw a distinct tinge of guilt in his gaze. Guilt and need and desperation. Greg relaxed his posture and nodded, indicating to Sherlock that it didn't need to be said. He congratulated himself on having that bit of a chat with Mycroft earlier, seeing as how it seemed that they would need to have a firm grasp on those boundaries before too long.

John's mouth quirked as he watch the silent back-and-forth between his lovers, one hand on Mycroft's upper arm. He helped him to his feet and at his brother's quiet hum, Sherlock reached out, his fingers trailing lightly along the edges of the bandage.

"He'll never hurt you again, brother. I promise."

Mycroft shuffled close and then simply latched onto him, wrapping one arm tight around his waist as he snuggled his face down into his neck. The other hand travelled from Sherlock's shoulder down his arm, raising gooseflesh in its wake. "Doesn't hurt, brother mine. Feels. So. Good." He hummed again, pulling back slightly to look Sherlock in the face. "You're not to threaten him, do you hear me, baby brother?" Mycroft's voice was soft, his eyes distant, but the intention behind both was nothing less than deadly. "You even think about taking my Gregory away and _you will regret it_." The last four words were delivered in a lilting sing-song voice, and Sherlock stiffened in shock, his brilliant blue-green eyes going wide in surprise.

Mycroft took advantage of Sherlock's temporary paralysis to press a warm but chaste kiss on his plush lips before releasing him. He turned back to Greg, his posture suddenly changing, his head and shoulders dropping subtly into a more submissive stance. Greg gathered him in his arms and stood rocking him slightly. "That's it, pet. You just let me take care of you now. Come on." He led him out of the bathroom, leaving John to poke and prod at Sherlock's stiff form until he was capable of moving again.

Mycroft abruptly turned in Greg's arms as he was leading him past the kitchen, his intention to get him upstairs and into some clothes. "Food!"

John laughed at Greg's startled, wide-eyed expression. "That's right, we forgot about the lovely breakfast your pet cooked for us earlier. Too many damn distractions in this place..." He looked Mycroft over, swaying slightly against Greg, who was holding him tight. "Why don't you get him settled on the sofa and I'll bring it out to you. I think it'll help him recover a bit, and we'll obviously need to let the water heat up a bit before Sherlock and I can shower..."

Greg grinned at him sheepishly and moved to obey, settling down on one end of the sofa before drawing Mycroft down into his lap. The redhead curled into him, resting his head on Greg's shoulder and closing his eyes in bliss. Greg reached for the blanket on the back of the sofa and draped it over the bundle in his lap, wrapping an arm around Mycroft's waist securely, pressing a kiss to his forehead and caressing his face. "Love you, pet. I am sorry that I hurt you."

"Oh, my dear, dear Gregory. You could never really hurt me. You're too kind and caring and loving and wonderful and marvellous and..." Greg chuckled and smiled fondly up at John as he brought over a tray with the remainders of breakfast and two cups of tea. Mycroft made a little face at the pile of eggs and bacon, but smiled as John bent down to kiss his cheek.

"You're going to eat something, My. It will help you feel better."

" _Pfft._ I feel - fine - John. Absolutely fine."

"No, you're still a little high off of our dear Gregory's earlier savagery. So you're going to eat, and have some tea, and then you're going to pull yourself together and go be the British Government, is that clear?"

Mycroft sat up a little straighter and frowned slightly. "Yes, sir."

"That's better." He pushed the plate into Mycroft's waiting hands and gave the fork to Greg. "Make sure he gets a few good mouthfuls."

Greg tilted his head, fighting to keep his mouth from breaking out into a wicked grin. "Savagery?"

John leant down and gave him a swift but ferocious kiss. "A horrible beast, just as Sherlock said. And I adore it."

Greg let the grin bloom over his face as John stepped back, keeping a watchful eye as his lover scooped up a forkful of eggs and put it to Mycroft's lips. His pet looked sideways at John and then dutifully opened his mouth, allowing Greg in. John watched for a few more moments, nearly overwhelmed by the sweetness he was witnessing; Greg murmuring quiet encouragements to the man tucked up in his lap as he fed him. Then he returned to the kitchen and to his own Holmes, wondering if he should perhaps pull him into his lap in order to get him fed properly as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A not-so-typical morning in 221B...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, please!
> 
> Love ya! *mwah!*

Greg managed to feed Mycroft about six forkfuls of eggs and a couple of slices of bacon, but after that, the man tucked up in his lap wrinkled his nose and turned his face to the side, wordlessly refusing any more. Greg glanced toward the kitchen, but at this angle he couldn't see John at all, although he could hear him, his voice a mere murmur as he spoke to Sherlock, no doubt doing what he could to ease his anxiety over his brother's little war-wound.

Greg scooped up another forkful and leant in to kiss the tip of Mycroft's nose, winking at him playfully. "C'mon, pet. Just one more. For me, please?"

Mycroft's nose scrunched up a little more, but he nodded brusquely and opened his mouth. He dutifully chewed and swallowed before gently snatching the fork out of Greg's hand. "Now it's your turn, Gregory."

"Pet, it'll be quicker if I just feed myself."

Mycroft pouted rather prettily. "Oh, but I want to..."

Greg rolled his eyes slightly, but opened his mouth as he was presented with a forkful of rapidly cooling eggs. He couldn't help but smile at the little wrinkle of concentration between Mycroft's eyes. Hell, they'd get to work at some point this morning, right? Er, early afternoon, perhaps?

Once everything had been consumed and the empty plate set aside, Mycroft tucked his head back into the crook of Greg's neck and sighed happily. Greg reached up to cup his hand over the bandage lightly, pressing his lips to his forehead. "Sweetheart, I _am_ sorry."

There was a soft gust of breath across his skin. "Don't be - I'm not. Now I have something to prove that I am yours, something to cherish if our time ever comes to an end."

"Stop talking like that. It won't happen, pet. Not _ever_. Like John said, you're part of this freaky little family now. You're stuck."

Greg grinned at Mycroft's silky chuckle and hummed as he burrowed deeper under the blanket, against his skin. Greg found his thoughts once more turning reluctantly toward work, and Mycroft sighed deeply.

"Yes, Gregory. We should get up and see to our duties." Greg just shook his head, having long ago gotten used to the Holmes' power of mind-reading. "I don't particularly wish to, of course."

"I know, pet. I know. But I'll see you again tonight, right? I mean, well - you won't be able to stay, but still... I guess you could, but you'd be sleeping in that big bed all alone and that just doesn't seem right..."

"Gregory. You do realise that I sleep alone at home all the time, correct?"

Greg looked stricken, his eyes going wide as he gasped quietly. "I hadn't even thought of that, to be honest. I think of you often, Mycroft, but when I see you, it's always here. With me. I don't like thinking of you as alone." He caressed his soft red hair. "You deserve to be held through the night."

Mycroft smiled gently. "I do find your presence to be immeasurably comforting while I sleep. So far, on the two occasions that I have stayed through the night, I didn't dream at all."

"Is that so rare, pet? Are they not good dreams?"

"I always dream, Gregory." He burrowed even closer, clutching at Greg's waist under the blanket. "Very rarely are they good ones."

"Tell me, Mycroft. I may be able to help..."

"I'd rather not, Gregory. I'd rather just look forward to more uninterrupted nights of sleep by your side."

"About that..." John sidled up and sat down on the coffee table, nodding briefly as the two men on the sofa turned their attentions to him. "We can work out a weekday or two later, but I was thinking... Sunday would be much easier if you were already here, don't you think?"

"Are you suggesting that I stay Saturday night?"

"Yes, I am."

"But..." Mycroft blinked at him uncomprehendingly. "Weekends are yours and Sherlock's."

"And they still will be. Just yours as well." John smiled gently. "I'm not saying that you could keep him sequestered up there all day, Mycroft. I would expect you both to put in an appearance down here as well. So we could all spend time together."

Mycroft blinked some more, looking up as Sherlock came in from the kitchen. "As a family."

"Yes, brother."

"I don't know - quite - _hm_." His voice petered out as he once more buried his face in Greg's neck.

"I think 'thank you' would suffice, pet."

"No, Gregory. No, it would not." Mycroft held out a hand for John and pulled him closer, looking up at both Greg and Sherlock as they nodded quietly. He cradled John's face and brought him in for a slow, deep kiss.

John's eyes opened lazily as Mycroft released him and he smiled broadly. "Now, that's a 'thank you' that a man can really appreciate." He took Mycroft's hands in his and tugged. "C'mon, you two. It's time to start acting like responsible adults now."

Sherlock chuckled as Mycroft and Greg both whined aloud. He stepped in as Mycroft reluctantly rose to his feet, holding him steady with hands on his upper arms as he swayed slightly. Mycroft blinked and then put their foreheads together, and they stood there silently as Greg rubbed at his thighs a little ruefully.

John took his hand and hauled him to his feet, wincing in sympathy as Greg groaned. Mycroft startled, looking to him in surprise as Greg shrugged ruefully. "Legs went a bit tingly on me."

"Gregory! You should have said..."

"Oh, but you were so comfy, pet."

Both John and Sherlock chuckled quietly as Mycroft's cheeks went pink. John nodded toward the attic stairs. "Get on with you." Sherlock released his brother and watched as he started to climb the stairs before turning back, his quicksilver eyes gleaming as Greg stretched, one hand holding on to the towel wrapped around his waist. He cursed as he wobbled slightly, and then headed down the hallway toward the bedroom.

"Greg, wait a moment." Sherlock caught up with him as he reached the sitting room door. "I just wanted to say that - it's okay. I realise that you didn't mean to hurt him. Not really. My reaction... I may have been a little..."

Sherlock fidgeted as Greg looked him up and down. "Jealous, maybe? I know that My and I have been spending a lot of time together lately. Are you feeling left out, baby?"

"Perhaps. I don't know, to be perfectly honest with you. You've made time for me when I've requested it, I don't feel neglected, not really, I just..."

Greg advanced on him slowly, his head tilted predatorily. "It's the mark itself, in't it?" Sherlock's eyes went wide as he blushed and nodded curtly. "I haven't taken you in a while, have I? Simply taken what I wanted, what's mine. Marked you all up for the whole world to see..." Sherlock whined quietly as Greg pushed up against him, going up on his toes to lick a wet stripe up the side of his neck. "You aren't always receptive to me, though, and you know that I don't want to force you. Not ever. You are mine because you choose to be, Sherlock. Never think that I don't appreciate that. But if you need something, you have to let me know."

Sherlock slid down in the doorway slightly, his fingers trembling as they traced along the skin of Greg's belly above the towel. "I need you, Greg. Oh God, I _do_."

" _Mm_. No time now, unfortunately. Tonight, all right?" Greg firmly pressed his palm against Sherlock's erection, smiling as the younger man groaned lustily. "You be good and just save this for me, yeah? And then when I get home and I need to work off a little tension, you'll be waiting for me, won't you, baby? And maybe we can make your big brother just a teensy bit jealous too. Would you like that?"

"Yes, Greg. Oh, please..."

Greg hummed with satisfaction as he nibbled on Sherlock's collarbone. "In the meantime, I think I'll leave you with a little reminder, yeah? So if your mind starts to wander, and you start to think about maybe pulling yourself off before I get to you, all you have to do is stretch your neck a bit and you'll feel me and you'll remember to wait. Because you don't want to disappoint me, do you, baby?" 

Sherlock panted slightly. "Never. Want to make you - happy."

"Oh, I _know_ you do." Greg opened his mouth and bit down on the long expanse of neck being bared to him, bit down hard and sucked even harder, riding Sherlock down to the floor as his knees buckled and folded neatly underneath him. Greg growled slightly as Sherlock's body shuddered and he moaned low, his fingers scrabbling gently against the bare skin of Greg's back. He held on for a bit longer, making damn sure that Sherlock would be feeling this mark for a good few days. Sherlock sighed happily as Greg released him, and he rolled his head gently as his lover reached up to finger the red mark lightly. "Oh yes, that one will be a lovely colour by the time I get home."

John chuckled low as he crouched next to them, having watched the whole scene silently. "Yes, my love, that's quite a mark."

Greg grinned at him. "I could do a matching set. C'mere, you."

John shook his head and stood, holding out his hands for both of his lovers to grasp and pull themselves up with. "Maybe later, Gregory. For now, it's time that Sherlock and I showered, and you still aren't dressed, for fuck's sake. If this is how things are going to go every time Mycroft stays over, we're gonna have to re-think this."

There was a quiet gasp from the stairs and all three men turned to see Mycroft looking quite ashen as he clutched at the banister. "I can behave myself, John, and I'm sure that Gregory can behave as well." He turned a stern look on his lover, who could only grin wickedly in return. "Please do not reconsider. _Please_."

"Hey, hey - no panicking allowed, Mycroft. It's all right, okay? I know that this is new and exciting and that things just happened. Really. We just have to work out the details, right?" John held out his hand and waited for Mycroft to reach out to grasp it. He pulled him a little closer to the group and ran his lips over his knuckles. Mycroft blinked down at him rapidly, his cheeks flaming red. "It was just a bad joke, okay?" John released him and started tugging Sherlock toward the toilet. "We're for the shower. Gregory, get dressed. Now." 

Greg sighed as the bathroom door shut with a bit of unnecessary force, turning and trudging down the hallway, his steps slow and dragging. He paused at the door to the bedroom and Mycroft looked after him a little uncertainly. "Would you like some assistance, my dear?" Greg turned and grinned before beckoning him forward.

They both flinched as the bathroom door opened abruptly and John's tawny head popped out. "No mucking about!" Then another slam as the smaller man retreated.

Mycroft tutted as he pushed past Greg in the doorway, heading for the wardrobe. "Is he always so..."

"Pushy?"

"I don't know if that's quite the word I would use... But, yes."

Greg grinned as Mycroft started rummaging through the wardrobe, 'tsk'ing at nearly every article of clothing he came across. "John is still very much a military man at heart, pet. He likes to run a tight ship, but of course that's nearly impossible in this flat. So he tends to exercise his authority whenever he senses an opportunity for it, and sometimes he's a bit - well, enthusiastic, that's all." He reached into the bureau for clean pants and a vest, stretching as he let the towel hit the floor. Mycroft turned with one of Greg's least rumpled suits in his hands and blushed to see him standing there completely exposed. Greg winked at him before stepping into his pants. "Don't tell him, but I think it's kinda cute when he gets all gruff like that."

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow as his lover shrugged into his vest and then dipped back into the drawer for socks. "Gregory, it's not like he doesn't know. I think every single person in this house knows exactly which buttons to press to get what they want. We're all too damnably clever for our own good."

"Oh?" Greg took the trousers that Mycroft was holding out for him and stepped into them. "Is that why your collar is all undone? That tie of yours just hanging loose around your neck, Jesus, pet. It's making me want to do horrible things to you..."

"I..." Mycroft's hand went to his neck as he handed over a plain white shirt, his fingers toying with the edge of the bandage. "I didn't want to cover it up, Gregory. Once the collar is buttoned and tie in place, no-one will know..."

"We'll know, pet. When you come back to me tonight, we'll take that bandage off and maybe we'll play with it a little bit, yeah? See if I can get you off by sucking on it just the right way... Poke at it, make sure it scars. Only if you want it to, of course. " Greg tucked his shirt into his trousers and started working a belt through the loops.

Mycroft's eyes were half-closed as he swayed somewhat dangerously on his feet. "Oh _yes_ , my love."

"Good. C'mere." Mycroft tossed Greg's suit jacket on the bed and came to him immediately, folding himself into his lover's arms. "Mm." Greg nuzzled into the bandage gently before kissing Mycroft's forehead and pulling him up straight. He began to work the last few buttons on Mycroft's shirt closed, and then did up his tie. He stepped back and viewed his handiwork with a crooked grin. "Not quite as neat as usual, but you'll do. I expect you'll be undoing it all and re-doing it as soon as you're tucked away in that office of yours anyway." 

Mycroft just shook his head and then blushed again as John walked in clad in his striped dressing gown, his hair damp and slicked back. He gave Greg's arse a swift pinch on his way to the bureau and looked them both over with an appraising eye. "See, love - no mucking about, just as you ordered."

"Well done, Gregory. Now get your arse to work."

Mycroft cleared his throat quietly as Greg tossed his jacket on haphazardly. "Um, John, if you would perhaps permit - that is, I'd be happy to take Gregory to the Yard if we were able to make a quick stop along the way?"

John quirked an eyebrow. "You'll be going to our clinic, right? I'd prefer if we had only one person handling that aspect of things. Make it a bit easier to coordinate testing schedules, that kind of thing."

"Yes, of course. Whatever you wish." 

"Go on, then. Stop wasting time." John grinned at the both of them as they rushed out of the room and out of the flat, holding hands the whole way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life, and a bit of playtime for G & J & S...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to catch up a bit... I tell myself that it's only a chapter or two until I'm able to hook this up with Part 5, but then more scenarios start unfolding, and holy Christ, more sex. But what the hell, right? So my muse is a perverted little thing, Lord bless her...
> 
> As always - please do let me know what you think. Comments are my lifeblood, my lovelies!
> 
> Kisses!

Greg endured quite the scathing look from Sarah when he walked into the clinic holding Mycroft's hand, but after a terse phone call to John, they were welcomed into her office with a bit of an apologetic air. They went through the whole rigmarole with Sarah throwing inquisitive glances at Greg's face, her eyes travelling the length of his body with more curiosity than clinical interest.  
   
"Trying to figure out what it is about me, huh? Why I've got three gorgeous men practically throwing themselves at me?" She just bit her lip, a faint blush blooming high on her cheeks. "Sorry, I couldn't tell ya, even if I knew. I just know I'm the luckiest bastard on the face of God's green earth."  
   
Sarah shook her head and started to usher them out of the room. "Pee tests before you leave, gentlemen - you know the routine."  
   
Greg winked at her. "We most certainly do. John and Sherlock may be stopping in later, the good doctor wants us all on the same schedule, I think."  
   
"Yes, so he said. He also said that I should send your results to him."  
   
Mycroft frowned mightily and broke his self-imposed silence. "That is highly irregular and, I might add, illegal."  
   
"Oh, pet." Sarah blushed bright-red as Greg reached out to tweak Mycroft's earlobe. "Not if we give permission, correct? After all, John is our - _ahem_ \- personal physician."  
   
Mycroft stammered as Greg chuckled and Sarah's face nearly went purple before they were able to leave. After that little errand, Mycroft drove Greg to the Met and prepared to drop him off at the front door. Greg smirked as he noted the solitary figure standing in the smoking area, and tugged Mycroft in close to him by the imperfect knot in his tie.  
   
"Let's give her an eyeful, pet."  
   
Mycroft blinked rapidly. " _Oh_. Oh, yes..." Gregory's eyes fluttered against the warm exhalation of his breath, and Mycroft simply had to cradle his lover's face in both of his hands as he was snogged quite senseless.  
   
Greg hummed as he pulled away reluctantly. "Until tonight, yeah?"  
   
"I expect that I may be available, yes."  
   
Mycroft grinned crookedly as Greg snorted at him. "What time, smartarse?"  
   
"No earlier than eight, I'm afraid."   
   
"Hm. Make sure you eat something, pet." Mycroft's brow wrinkled and his eyes softened. "For me, all right?"  
   
"Oh, Gregory..."  
   
Greg hummed again and pressed a kiss to his forehead before hesitating briefly. "I, um - well, I promised Sherlock some playtime so I may not..."  
   
"Gregory. Please do not over-stress yourself on my account. You know that I do not expect you to perform based purely on my whims." Mycroft traced his lover's jawline with one finger. "In fact, it might be nice to simply spend some time with John, don't you think? And Sherlock as well, should he deign to join us."    
   
"Movie night!"  
   
Mycroft chuckled as Greg's eyes lit up with excitement. "Yes, my dear. Something light-hearted, perhaps?"  
   
"Mm. Romantic?" Greg ducked in to nip at the tip of Mycroft's nose before pulling back slightly. "You know, I don't think John has ever seen _The Princess Bride_..."  
   
"Surely you jest." Mycroft frowned mightily with a sharp intake of air. "That must be rectified immediately." Greg giggled as Mycroft slid his gaze to the side. "Get on with you, you horrible tempter. Your colleague looks as though she may be ill at any moment..."  
   
The giggles erupted into uproarious laughter and Mycroft could not resist darting in for another kiss before releasing Gregory and essentially shoving him out the door and onto the pavement. Greg waved as the car pulled away and then turned to Donovan, her face as dark as an oncoming storm.  
   
"What, _another_ one of 'em? Jesus Christ, boss, what the hell? Are you tryin' to get yourself chopped into little bitty bits and tossed into the Thames?"  
   
Her thunderous look was swiftly replaced with one of bemused humour as said boss did a little soft-shoe scuffle right there on the steps of New Scotland Yard. "Oh, you're just jealous. Three! Ha! Three gorgeous blokes, and all of them simply gagging for me. _Me!_ "  
   
Donovan shook her head with a tiny smile. "Don't know why you're acting all surprised and whatnot. You've always been a sexy bastard, Lestrade." Greg stopped shuffling and looked up at her, startled. She scoffed, flapping a hand at him dismissively. "Oi, shut it. Not my kinda sexy. Always thought you were a bit daft not realising it, not seeing the way people'd look at you. But then Holmes comes along, and I could tell that you were waiting for him to realise it too. And then the older one suddenly shows up, and yeah, I could see it in him too, but he'd always hide it in front of you. You've all been playing some sort of idiotic game, and none of you even knew it. Then you started making moon-eyes at that Watson, and the whole thing finally got blown to hell, thank God."  
   
Greg frowned. "Christ, was I really that obvious?"  
   
She snorted, not at all delicately. "Yes and no. Men. So fucking oblivious. Worse than a goddamn soap opera." She glanced down at her feet briefly before looking back up with a little squint. "But I'm glad you figured it out all the same." Donovan suddenly tossed her head and stood up straight, taking in a gusty breath. "Hope you can hold onto those tender feelin's for a bit longer, 'cause you're gonna stroke out when you see the mountain of paper on your desk."  
   
Greg's shoulders slumped. "Gee, Sally. You're such a ray of fucking sunshine."  
   
She took his arm above the elbow and started to wrestle him into the building. "Dontcha know it. Better make sure you don't get burned by my staggering brilliance, boss."

 

                   **********          **********          **********          **********          **********          **********          **********

 

Greg shut the door to the flat and leant up against it briefly as he heaved out a great sigh and allowed his shoulders to drop in relief at finally being able to shut out the outside world. It hadn't been a bad day, not really. At least there had been no new murders, thank God. No, it had just been - interminable. Meetings and paperwork, one right after the other, all fucking day long, until Greg had been utterly lost in a daze and couldn't even remember if he was coming or going. He'd only had lunch because Sally had essentially lobbed a sandwich at him over his veritable mountain of paperwork some time around one or so.

He hadn't even thought to check his mobile up to that point, although he generally did what he could to check in with his various lovers throughout the day. Sherlock, of course, usually did whatever he could to pester Greg with demands, either for an exciting case or simply for a solid chunk of his time. But not today. Greg wasn't sure if the radio silence that he had endured was because he had already promised Sherlock a measure of his undivided attention when he got home, but he found it both refreshing and aggravating.  
   
Obviously, when he wasn't being interrupted every half-hour by an extremely bored and therefore extremely cranky man-child, he could really crack down and get some shit done. But considering some of the things that same cranky fool would get up to when he was well and truly bored, Greg couldn't help but worry when he didn't hear from him at all. He had done what he could to fight through his protective instinct, however, ignoring the odd twinge from his gut as he decided to leave him be. As it had always been between them, if Sherlock needed him, he would find him. Greg sighed again as he looked up the staircase, hoping that his judgement was sound, and that the flat wouldn't be in shambles when he finally gathered the courage to go up there.  
   
He groaned quietly and willed his tired body to move. After a moment, he was surprised when it actually obeyed him. On the third step, Greg swayed slightly as he suddenly recalled how Sherlock had looked at him earlier, that gleam of desire in his quicksilver eyes, the desperate need in the way he had bared his neck to him. A shiver of delight coursed through Greg's body, from top to toe and back again, and he chuckled as he realised that he wasn't quite as tired as he had believed himself to be just a second before. He clung to the stairway railing as he quivered with silent mirth. Indeed, no matter how dire things seemed in the moment, Greg could always count on his prick to lift him back up again...

Never mind the potential for disaster - Greg knew that he had at least one man waiting for him up there, and he certainly wasn't going to leave him to wait any longer. His footsteps were light and quick as he ascended the remaining stairs, and he happily shed both mack and suit jacket, tossing them onto the sofa as he toed off his shoes. Nothing seemed out of place in the sitting room, and Greg felt any remaining tension in his spine suddenly give way with a delightful shudder of relief.

He popped his head into the kitchen, his eyebrows raising at the sheer number of takeaway cartons littering the tabletop. Stepping a bit closer, he rifled through them briefly. Definitely more here than one person would consume for an average meal, especially if that one was Sherlock. He noted two containers that hadn't been opened yet, and took a sniff. Chow mein and garlic chicken, his favourites. His guts were probably going to hate him later, but Greg didn't care. He was always stupidly happy when either John or Sherlock indulged his love for greasy Chinese. Greg let another wriggle of excitement skitter along his body. John was apparently home as well, and he was obviously going to participate - he wouldn't have left all of this mess behind if he hadn't been anxious to get started on certain amorous activities. In fact - Greg grinned when he saw a fork sticking out of a container of half-eaten almond chicken. That was John's preferred dish, and if he had left any behind, it was only because Sherlock had said or done something to provoke him into taking action earlier than he would have liked.

There was a quiet step behind him, and Greg turned, a forkful of fried chicken halfway to his mouth. John glared up at him, or tried to, as his lips twisted with amusement. "Didn't even hear you come in, love. What are you up to?"

_"Mnuffin'."_ Greg chewed and swallowed with a little chuckle. "Actually, I was deducing. It's kind of fun." He tapped the fork on his chin as he tilted his head in thought. "So, have you fucked him into the mattress yet, or were you waiting on me?"

John grinned as he sidled in close, pressing a very hard cock into the inside of Greg's thigh as he gently snatched the fork away and tossed it back into the mess of cartons. "I do believe that you should be able to deduce the answer to that question rather easily, Detective Inspector."

Greg growled happily as he grabbed at John's firm arse with one hand and clutched at his tawny hair with the other, forcefully tipping his head back so he could sink his teeth into his neck. John's whimper soon turned into a full-throated moan as Greg probed with his tongue and sucked, oh-so-gently at first and then more insistently, bringing John in closer with each deep pull of lips and tongue.  
   
John went completely limp for just a moment, with only Greg's solid hold on his behind keeping him upright. Then he shook his head as he planted his feet, neatly dislodging his lover's mouth from his neck. "Gregory, you are a beast." Greg winked and started to lean back into him, but John broke his hold and skipped away, holding out his hand. "He's waiting on us, my love. Not entirely patiently, I'm afraid."

Greg frowned slightly as he took his lover's hand, allowing him to pull him in the direction of the bedroom. "I hadn't heard from him all day. I was thinking that he's shown remarkable restraint..." John snorted out a burst of startled laughter, swiftly dissolving into uncontrollable giggles. Greg's frown deepened, until he cleared the doorway and looked toward the bed. _"Ah."_ He looked from the man barely holding himself up against the wall to the man squirming over the mattress and back again. "Just how naughty was he, for God's sake?"

John cleared his throat, looking somewhat abashed. "I wouldn't say naughty as much as whiny and petulant and _whiny_ and demanding and cross and oh, did I mention whiny?"

"So, essentially... He was behaving as himself."

The smaller man bit his lip and twisted his fingers together as he looked up at his lover through his lashes. "I may have been a little overly enthusiastic..."

Greg smirked as he wandered over to the side of the bed, slowly unbuttoning his shirt as his dark eyes grazed over the prone figure on the bed. Sherlock was starkers, of course, his body stretched taut, arms over his head and legs out straight. He had been bound at both ankle and wrist with some elaborate knotwork, the smooth black hemp rope a pleasing contrast to his pale skin. The 'shackles' had been secured to both headboard and footboard, resulting in a vision of lean, toned muscle, trembling ever-so-slightly with the strain. Greg let his eyes linger on Sherlock's groin, his prick standing out stiff and proud, already darkly flushed and leaking steadily. There was a leather strap snapped tight around the base of bollocks and cock, preventing the younger man from getting any relief. Greg let his salacious smirk bloom into his most wicked grin as he finally looked upon the face of his youngest lover.  
   
The ball-gag was already glistening with his spit, Sherlock's plush lips wrapped around the girth obscenely. Greg shivered as the lips quirked slightly, a hot flush blooming deep in his belly at the gleam of absolute need in Sherlock's eyes. Greg sighed as he placed the flat of his palm on his lover's taut stomach, just above the pubic bone. Sherlock's body jerked hard and he let out a muffled moan, his head tilting back against the mattress.

"Beautiful." Greg slowly swiped his hand from side to side before moving it upward, firmly stroking along his breastbone, idly flicking at his pretty pink nipples, looking just a touch painful as they stood puckered and erect. He tickled along his clavicle, humming low as Sherlock stiffened under his touch once again. The mark that Greg had made earlier in the day had darkened considerably, a lovely violet flower blooming on his lover's neck. Sherlock tilted his head to the left as best he could, baring it for Greg's inspection.  
   
The silver-haired man hummed again, his broad thumb caressing the bruise gently, up and down, side to side, circling unceasingly. He bit his lip as he pressed down hard, his cock twitching at the strangled moan that his touch elicited. "Yes, my love. So beautiful... And mine." He cupped Sherlock's chin and tilted his head back toward him, so he could look him in the eyes. He wasn't entirely surprised to see tears welling up, but whether that was due to discomfort or an overwhelming welter of emotion, Greg could not say for certain. "You need this, don't you baby?" Sherlock jerked his head in a shaky nod. "You need me?"

Sherlock's eyes squeezed shut for a moment, and Greg was temporarily alarmed to see a couple of tears escape, running down and over sharp cheekbones, being captured by the fabric straps of the gag. When the dark eyelashes fluttered open once again, Greg was struck by how clear and intense his lover's gaze was, his normally brilliantly blue eyes absolutely incandescent. It seemed that he momentarily forgot how to breathe, and in that instant, with Sherlock's eyes locked onto his, Greg heard his voice in his head, ringing with utter clarity and certainty.

_'Yes, Greg. I need you. Now and forever. Always...'_

Greg swallowed against the heavy lump in his chest as he struggled to get the rest of his clothes off as quickly as possible. He heard a warm chuckle from close by, and looked up, surprised. What with all of the intense eye-fucking that had already taken place between Sherlock and himself, he had bloody well forgotten all about John! The smaller man had taken the opportunity to shed his own garments, and was perched on the bed at Sherlock's left side, his tight golden body on full display. Thankfully, he didn't seem angry or upset, as his slate-blue eyes were warm, his lips pursed with fond amusement.

Greg blushed and stammered uneasily, trying to think of some way to make it up to him. He finally settled on the old tried-and-true as he hopped awkwardly on one foot, struggling to get his last sock off. He nodded down at John's considerable erection as he leant over Sherlock's body, cupping the back of his neck as he brought him in for a brief kiss. "Want me to suck you off first, my love? Send him even more spare?"

Sherlock's body arched between them and he started to struggle wildly against his bonds. John swiftly ran his hands up his torso to his face, clasping his cheeks firmly and forcing him to meet his eyes. "Hush, love. Calm yourself." He stared hard until the lanky body relaxed again. "Better." He ran his fingers through the soft dark curls, smiling as Sherlock began to hum through the gag, almost purring. Once he was satisfied that Sherlock had calmed himself sufficiently, John cleared his throat and blushed, casting a quick and rather embarrassed look in Greg's direction.

Greg's prick instantly sat up and began to pay strict attention. John was no stranger to any number of filthy activities, obviously. When in the middle of any hot and heavy action, the ex-soldier would not hesitate to simply act on any desires that happened to cross his dirty little mind, and he would also happily indulge in just about anything either of his partners requested of him. But if something naughty happened to occur to him while not actively engaged in play, he seemed to have enormous difficulty articulating those ideas to either of his lovers. Greg always did what he could to encourage him, especially because once they managed to coax his nasty thoughts out of his head and into action, the results had been overwhelmingly positive.

Sherlock squirmed again as Greg's breath caught in his throat. "What is it, love? Tell us what you want." He slowly climbed up into the bed, straddling Sherlock's lower legs as he rubbed and squeezed at his lanky thighs. John blushed even harder and refused to meet his gaze, his fingers idly tracing around the prone figure's navel and ribcage. "Please, my love." Greg hunched down, looking up at John from under his lashes, employing the full force of the infamous Lestrade puppy-eyes. "Oh, _please_ , Captain my Captain..."

One corner of John's mouth quirked slightly, and he took in a deep breath, closing his eyes as his body shuddered gently. "I... I want your sloppy seconds, Gregory." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I want to watch you _use_ him, and when you're done, I want to take my turn." Greg darted a swift look at Sherlock's face, but his eyes were already heavy and half-lidded, nearly glazed over with absolute lust. "I want to push in when he's loose and - God - dripping with your come. Want to take him hard and fast and messy. Fuck yes, hot and messy and sloppy and _filthy_ as fuck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just Greg & John and their little boy-toy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I lied, but not much. I really didn't think that I would have anything to post, and really, this is such a tiny chapter that I don't feel great about posting it, I mean, only 1500 words or so, and that's a bit shameful considering some of my other chapters but I really wanted *something* to make my lovelies happy and I don't think this will entirely satisfy, but hopefully it will at least carry you all through the weekend. Hopefully...
> 
> I understand if you don't comment, since there's not much here, but if there is something that you wish to share, please do...
> 
> Kisses.

Greg blinked rapidly as his breath caught in his throat. "Jesus fuck, John." His lover ducked his head, looking more than a little ashamed. "Fuck _yes_ , you dirty little thing." John looked up in surprise just in time to brace himself as Greg crashed into him, bowling him over so that he was lying flat on his back next to Sherlock. John moaned as hot breath washed over his neck and chest, as his lover ground down into him, one long hard thrust up against his stiff cock.  
   
" _Ngh_. Gregory - stop. You're gonna make me pop off if you keep that up."  
   
Greg chuckled low as he levered his body up onto his hands and knees, letting one hand wander down John's body, smiling widely as his lover tensed and stretched underneath him. "We've another of those straps laying about - I could bind you up like poor baby there..." He clamped a tight ring around John's package with his fingers and let his tongue wriggle out over his bottom lip. John moaned again, thrashing underneath him slightly. "Or I could just get you off anyway. I'm sure we'd be able to wake your oh-so-perfect prick back up by the time I'm finished with our lovely boy-toy here..." This time it was Sherlock that groaned, a fresh dribble of saliva cascading down his chin as his body arched. He tested his bonds again, pulling hard with arms and legs together, squirming across the mattress.  
   
John shook his head, blowing out a harsh breath. "No, love. Sherlock first. You promised to mark him up, remember? Promised to take him. Do it, my love. Show him who he belongs to. I want to watch you claim him." He squeezed Greg's biceps hard as his lover's head dropped onto his chest, exhaling shakily. "Please. Take what's yours, Gregory."  
   
 _"Jesus."_ Without another word, Greg released him and clambered back over Sherlock's legs, sitting back for just a moment, letting his eyes travel over the bounty spread before him. He tilted his head, trailing his fingers up and down the lightly-furred thighs before ducking down and nibbling gently on one prominent hipbone. Sherlock stiffened briefly, but as Greg swirled his tongue, as he closed his lips around the sharp protrusion and started to suck, all of the tension simply melted out of the younger man, and he instantly became a limp puddle underneath his lover's talented mouth. Greg chuckled quietly as he moved to the other hip, deciding that a little symmetry was in order as he added another mark. He winked at John as he slowly sat up, his slate-blue eyes nearly black with desire. "Where next, my love?"  
   
John pointed silently, and Greg dutifully placed a mark on every spot that he indicated, thigh and waist and ribs and arms, one above Sherlock's sweet little navel and another below. His lover's straining cock bobbed up against the underside of Greg's chin on the latter, liberally smearing pre-come over his skin. He sat up slowly, wiping at the liquid with his fingers and idly licking them clean. John smirked at him, his breath a little erratic. They both caressed Sherlock's quivering body, poking at the various red marks and trailing their fingers through the spittle that Greg had left behind. Sherlock moaned and jerked his head slightly to the right, exposing his lovely pale neck, wordlessly demanding a mate to the bruise that had started it all. Greg shook his head, crawling up his lover's body to press a soft kiss to his forehead. "That one will have to wait, baby. That's for when I'm inside, fucking you senseless. For me to have something pristine to sink my teeth into when I unload into that plush arse of yours."  
   
"Mmph! Mm- _nuph_ mmnphmpf!" Both Greg and John chuckled, no measure of telepathy needed to know what Sherlock was demanding. _'Now,'_ he was saying. _'For God's sake, take me now!'_ Sherlock struggled again as his lovers looked down at him, but his wriggling was only half-hearted as he tilted his head back, fighting back the tears of frustration that were threatening to fall.

Thankfully, Greg saw that he was near his breaking point and leant down into him, pressing gentle kisses on his eyelids. "Yes, baby. I know. We're gonna flip you over, okay?" He caressed the younger man's curls, smiling as Sherlock nodded faintly. "Good. That's good. You like it when I take you from behind, don't you, baby?" Sherlock moaned again, his eyes rolling back in his head as his body jolted. He nodded much more vigorously as his back arched, pushing his chest up into the man grinning above him. He writhed as Greg hummed in approval and slithered down slightly so he could catch one of his hard, pink nipples in his teeth.

Greg turned his head and winked at John as there was another wordless demand from the prone figure. "Can you get his feet, love? Let's leave him bound, just untie him from the bed frame..." John quirked an eyebrow and moved to comply, smiling faintly as Greg tilted his head, looking down at Sherlock seriously. "Unless..." He reached out to grasp his face gently. "You feeling all right, baby? Do you need us to set you free?" Sherlock blinked up at him, and Greg smiled, pleased that he seemed to be thinking about it, rather than just refusing outright. After a moment, he shook his head decisively. Greg reached up and tugged him loose from the headboard before tracing his fingers along the straps of the ball-gag. "And your jaw? How is that doing? Good?" There was no hesitation this time as Sherlock nodded, and Greg huffed out a quick laugh before shifting to the mattress.

Sherlock flipped himself over and scrambled up onto his knees without pause, dipping his spine as he fell onto his elbows and tucked his face into his arms. Greg laughed outright this time as he reached out to caress his trembling thighs, Sherlock striving to spread his knees as much as possible, even bound as he was. "So sure of yourself, aren't you, tart?" Sherlock wiggled his arse as an answer, moaning into his gag as Greg tapped on the flat base of the toy that was stuffed into his hole. "Wanted to be ready for me, baby?"

Sherlock nodded vigorously. "Mm-hmph..."

John's hand joined Greg's in its' wanderings, bestowing gentle smacks and wicked little pinches upon the pale flesh before gesturing vaguely at the black rope. "That's what started all this, actually."

Greg quirked an eyebrow at him and leant in for a soft kiss. "Tell me, love."

"I told you about the whinging, yes?" Greg nodded, his dark eyes twinkling as his lips twisted with mirth. "So there he was, interrupting my meal with what he thought were sly, pointed remarks about how he knew that it was going to be a long, excruciating day for you and oh - how lovely it would be if you could just bend him over whatever piece of furniture that you preferred and just slide right in without having to worry about preparing him properly. I agreed, of course, and consented to help the poor lad out, although why he couldn't use his own clever fingers to open himself up I'll never know." Greg grinned again, leaning in to nibble lightly on one gloriously plump arse-cheek. John bit his lip as Sherlock whined low and wriggled between them. "So when I graciously agreed, he ran down the hallway like his hair was on fire, and by the time I came in, he was already completely starkers, planted face-down on the bed with his cheeks spread."

Greg moaned low, his dark eyelashes fluttering. "Oh, baby... That impatient, were you? Jesus, love - how did you keep from just fucking him silly yourself?"

John frowned mightily. "Control, Gregory." His stern countenance slipped minutely with a little twist of his lips and brow. "Although I will admit it was a bit touch-and-go, especially once I had two fingers buried deep and he started to rub himself against the mattress..."

It was Greg's turn to frown and he turned it on Sherlock, who had stopped writhing and was looking at him over his shoulder, his quicksilver eyes twinkling merrily, although he could not tell if it was with impudence or amusement. "I told you _not_ to, baby. You were supposed to save it for me."

"That's what I said." John cleared his throat as Greg turned his attention back to him. "And when he didn't stop, I yanked my hand away and oh you should have seen the look he gave me, my love. Could've melted stone, I think." John gave Sherlock a nasty little pinch on his inner thigh, smiling sharply as he jumped and yelped. "But then he promised to be good, and like an utter fool I believed him, so I started working him open once more, and of course he started rutting again, just like some bloody animal." John shook his head in disbelief. "Three times! Three times we went through that little routine until I snapped and brought out the cock-strap. And then that mouth of his started flapping, and that I simply could not tolerate, so I went into his toy box and brought out the gag. Turned into nothing but a giant kitten after that, isn't that right, love?" Greg ran his hand down Sherlock's spine as John soothed the backs of his thighs. "Didn't try to rub against anything as I stuffed that toy into his bum, and let me roll him over and tie him up without struggling at all." He smiled at Greg serenely. "That bloody thing is the best sex toy I've ever purchased. And it's not even for me!"

"Oh, I don't know about that, John. Sherlock may be the one with it stuffed in his mouth, but we've all definitely benefited."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even more of G & J playing with poor helpless Sherlock...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, this is a continuation of the previous chapter. I had hoped to have more to post last week, but it just didn't happen... You could consider this chapter 27.5, I suppose, since it's rather small on its' own.
> 
> More to come, as always.
> 
> And as always, I adore you all. Thank you so much for sticking with me!
> 
> (If you'd like to drop a comment, please do!)

Sherlock did his damnedest to roll his eyes at both of his lovers as they giggled down at him, but the normally devastating effect of his signature look was a bit muted, what with the vast quantities of drool smeared across his face and all. He wiggled his arse again desperately, and Greg suddenly snarled, dipping down to sink his teeth into his left arse-cheek quite firmly. Sherlock jerked with a started yelp, and then yelped again as Greg grabbed him by his bound ankles and yanked hard, bringing his body down flat onto the mattress with a solid thump. He looked back in annoyance and confusion, but let out a muffled moan as Greg swiftly straddled his legs and starting twisting and pushing at the plug that was buried in his arse.  
   
"Gonna take you like this, baby. Won't be able to get in so deep, but that's okay, in't it? After all, this arse is mine to do with as I please, yeah?" Greg smacked it lightly, just to watch it jiggle under his hand. "Oh, yes. It's about me taking what I want, not about getting you off... Not yet, anyway." Sherlock dropped his forehead into his bound hands with a little whimper, shivering at Greg's breathy chuckle.  
   
" _Jesus_ , love." Greg winked at John's rosy cheeks and wide eyes as he withdrew the toy and handed it over to him. John wrapped it up in a flannel and placed it on the bedside table, handing over a bottle of lube without comment. He watched with interest as Greg spread Sherlock's cheeks, humming with delight as he rhythmically squeezed and released, squeezed and released. Sherlock bucked up against him, but Greg resolutely did not take the bait and kept up his maddeningly patient manipulation of that lush posterior, quietly observing the way the pink skin flexed and fluttered under his hands.  
   
He gave John a sly, sideways glance as he squeezed a bit of lube over Sherlock's exposed hole. "Surprised that you don't have anything stuffed up your bum, Captain my Captain. I do know how much you love your toys."  
   
"Again, Gregory - control." John chuckled lightly. "It would have been quite impossible for me to contain myself if I had been stimulated in any way. So I kept my clothes on, and my arse free from intrusions, as wonderful as that might have been."  
   
"Why don't you pick one out and I'll help you get it situated, hm?" Greg bit his lip as he started to probe at Sherlock's hole with the blunt head of his slicked-up cock. "Oh, baby - fucking _hell_..." He blew out a sharp breath as he slid in as far as he could, and then just sat there at the top of his lover's trembling thighs, relishing the sound of his low keening whines. John's slate-blue eyes burned into him as he began to rock gently. "That way, my love - oh - that way, maybe I'll feel like I'm fucking you both at the same time." Greg smiled slow and wicked as the mattress vibrated minutely under John's violently shuddering body. "Get that other strap too. As lovely as it would be to watch you spill over our dear boy-toy's back, I rather fancy your nasty little idea. I want to watch that beautiful cock of yours slide in and out of him all drenched in my spunk, my love."  
   
 _"Unf."_  
   
"Oh yes..." Greg watched with fond amusement as John rapidly slid off the bed and dove underneath, scrabbling for his shoe box. He continued to rock in and out of Sherlock slowly, pressing his arse-cheeks together to give him a little more friction. "Yes, my love." Sherlock whined low in his throat until Greg ran his fingers down the long line of his spine, his hands coming away slick with sweat. He took pity briefly and shifted atop his lover's prone form, holding him down and giving him a few good hard thrusts. Greg chuckled at his muffled but clearly high-pitched squeal. "Feel good, baby?"

"Mmph! Mm-hmm..." Sherlock nodded vigorously and cast a desperate glance over his shoulder. _"Mmmghph..."_

Greg chuckled again as John once again clambered up next to him, a toy in one hand and the extra strap in the other. "Patience, baby. You'll get yours." He took the strap and snapped it snug around John's cock and bollocks, grinning at the smaller man's quiet moan and turning his attention back to the man underneath him for just a moment. "Eventually."

John's breath hitched in his chest as Greg turned his dark gaze upon him. He handed over the toy and then hesitated. "How do you want me?"

Greg tilted his head with a little frown. "Well, right here in front of me, of course." John shuddered as he looked down at the expanse of Sherlock's pale back, the muscles skipping and jumping underneath the younger man's skin. "C'mon, love. Hop aboard and stick that divine rump of yours up nice and high for me."

"Oh Jesus." John bit his lip as he shuffled closer, placing his hands on Sherlock's shoulders. He squeezed him lightly, giving him a quick peck on the back of his head. "You okay, love?" Sherlock gave a weak nod and a thumbs-up. " _Jeeezus..._ Okay." John cautiously threw one leg over his helpless body and then did as Greg had instructed him, pressing his chest into Sherlock's upper back as he spread his legs wide and practically stuck his arse right up into his lover's face.

Soft puffs of warm breath pulsed over his exposed flesh as Greg once more chuckled with delight. John squirmed as he felt his lover move a little closer, his body heat washing over him in a wave, forward and back, in a steady pattern. Feeling Sherlock's breath quivering through his chest, John realised that Greg had resumed his steady if somewhat shallow fucking. John nuzzled into Sherlock's damp curls, murmuring quiet nonsense noises to help calm him. He was so busy comforting the long, lean body underneath his that he had nearly forgotten how he had wound up in this position to begin with; until there was the sharp snap of the lid on the bottle of lube, and his body tensed unconsciously. Sherlock giggled at him, only the shaking of his body giving him away. "Hush, you." Of course, this just made the bound man giggle harder, until Greg pushed into him deep, Sherlock's spine contorting slightly with the force of it. Both Sherlock and John moaned, the combined vibrations of their expressed pleasure rolling into Greg's body.

He hummed in delight and approval, finally placing the tip of John's chosen toy at his hole. It was the one that had increasing graduations in width, with a deceptively powerful vibrator at its core. Greg didn't flip it on though, he just pushed and probed gently, until the first little knob slid in. He continued this process, back and forth, rocking into both of his lover's bodies in unison, until John's arse had swallowed all five knobs and the poor man was damn near speaking in tongues.  
   
"Beautiful." Greg slowly slid the toy free and then slammed it back in, thrusting hard into Sherlock at the same moment. He moaned lustfully at their combined noises, the mingled scents that washed over him as they rocked together. "You're both so fucking _beautiful_." Another slow withdrawal, another swift thrust. "How is this even my life, sweet Christ..." He took in a sharp gasp of breath as John cursed quietly, his arms reaching out to brace himself on the headboard above Sherlock's head. John grunted and pushed back into Greg's increasingly harder thrusts, and Sherlock arched up into him as best he could, jerking his hips in small circles as he was held down and used. " _Fuck_. Oh, fuck me, yes..." Greg pressed the toy deep into John's arse and held it there as he tapped the little button on the base. John yelped and shivered, rolling off of Sherlock and to the side as Greg shoved at him unceremoniously.

Without a word to his lover, with nothing but a sharp glance to warn him to keep the toy in place and not to touch himself, Greg instantly draped himself over Sherlock's prone form, nosing at his hairline as his knees tightened around the tops of his legs. "Fuck, baby. God, you feel so good like this. So - _uhn_. Jesus." Sherlock moaned mutely, his head thrashing slightly as he once again fought against the solid weight of the body atop his, attempting to thrust back, failing to take his lover in as deep as he needed to find his own satisfaction. Greg chuckled darkly. "Later, baby. Oh yes, after I've marked you _properly_. Marked you like your brother." He tugged Sherlock's head to the side and growled happily as the man underneath him dropped his left shoulder and strained his neck, giving him unfettered access to the unblemished flesh. "Yes, baby. So close, fuck yes. _Yesss_..." Greg latched onto him eagerly as his hips twitched and shivered, as his cock pulsed into his lover's helpless but wanton arse. Sherlock squealed sharply as Greg dug his teeth in, as he sucked hard, releasing his own wordless cry into the stark, stiff tendons of the younger man's neck.

Greg heard John's soft _'Jeeezusss...,'_ from next to him, but paid him absolutely no mind as he heaved in short, hot gasps of breath through his nose, reluctant to let go of his all-too-willing victim. Sherlock was breathing in much the same manner, his entire body quivering and shuddering as Greg rolled his hips languidly, revelling in the feel of his hot, slick release coating his lover's tight passage. He bit down just a bit harder, sucked just a bit deeper, just to hear Sherlock's breath stutter and feel his low whine against his chest. Greg vaguely felt motion as John shifted about on the mattress, but still paid him no heed as he recovered, finally opening his mouth wide and letting Sherlock go. He licked at him contentedly, smiling at the feel of the deep ridges that his teeth had made in the pale flesh. No skin broken this time, thank God. "Oh, isn't that lovely. Just like Mycroft's. You and your brother match now, baby. Mine. Both _mine_. What do you think of that?" Sherlock's eyelashes fluttered and he sighed deeply through the gag, his body gone quite limp. Greg chuckled quietly. "Yeah. Thought that might appeal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing on the session with their lovely boy-toy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirty dirty dirty... Oh, I am a dirty thing. Woo!
> 
> Please do let me know if you're still enjoying my nonsense.
> 
> Love you all, my darlings!
> 
> Kisses!

Sherlock grunted and shifted suddenly, spreading his legs and pushing up into him. Greg realised instantly that John must have untied his ankles, and he looked over his shoulder at him with a sharp glare. "Don't you give me that look, Gregory. My turn." Greg sat up with a little groan, once more grinding hard into the plush arse that he was still buried in. "Quickly, you selfish brute."

Greg ignored him, planting both hands firmly on Sherlock's lower back, pushing himself up slightly in order to swiftly insinuate both knees in between the younger man's spread thighs. With a quiet grunt, he shifted his grip on the narrow hips, pulling up as he once more pushed in deep. Sherlock's squeal of delight quickly morphed into a long drawn-out groan and Greg threw his head back in bliss.

"Gregory, I _swear_ to motherfucking  _God_..."

"Mm. Just making sure I've slicked him up for you properly, my sweet Captain. Nice and deep, yeah?"

John blew a sharp breath from his nose, only the barest hint of a smile curving the corners of his lips. "I appreciate your efforts. Now back the fuck off."

Greg withdrew with an unhappy little sigh, using the tissues that John had unceremoniously tossed at him to wipe himself off with. He shifted to the side as his lover pushed at him rather impatiently and not at all gently. The smaller man did at least take a moment to view and appreciate Greg's handiwork, as he probed around Sherlock's puffy pink hole with a curious finger. Then he smacked one cheek hard. "Over. Now."

Sherlock obediently wriggled around until he was flat on his back, eagerly drawing his legs up and apart. John moaned quietly. "Such a beautiful picture you make, my love. Such a gorgeous little come-slut for the both of us. Only truly happy when you're filled up and absolutely dripping..." Greg bit his lip as Sherlock shuddered violently, his eyes rolling back as he nodded in agreement. John shuffled a little closer, spreading the younger man's thighs a bit further, and then he simply sank in balls-deep. "Oh. Oh, _yes_." He spread his own legs wide, settling down slightly and undulating his hips gently, barely pushing in at all. "So hot, so slick. Jesus fuck, so _good_." He turned heavy-lidded eyes on the silver-haired man perched at his side. "You did an excellent job opening him up for me, Gregory."

Greg swallowed, his cheeks heating. "Happy to serve, Captain."

John smirked. "Oh, I know you are..." He bit his lip and let his head fall back as he continued to roll his hips languidly. "Fuck yes, fill up this greedy plush arse..."

Sherlock squirmed, once more attempting to take his current lover in deeper, his bound arms straining to reach for his neglected cock. Greg clicked his tongue in annoyance and pushed Sherlock's arms back over his head, making sure that his hands were clutching at the headboard securely. He tucked a hand under the younger man's knee and pulled back on the limb, opening him up further for John's exertions and for his own viewing pleasure. Greg focused his attention on John's lovely cock, only a few centimetres clearly visible as he continued to gently thrust in and out.

"Let me see, love." John moaned as he pulled all the way out, the smooth flesh of his prick absolutely covered and glistening with Greg's release. They both let out indiscriminate noises of pure lust as one pearly drip fell from the darkly-flushed head, oozing down over Sherlock's exposed arsehole. Greg reached between the two men and slid in one finger, moving it around gently. He nodded at John, and with nothing but a little quirk of one golden eyebrow, he slid back in, groaning quietly at the new tightness that the extra intrusion provided. Greg pulled and wriggled and stretched as all of the muscles in Sherlock's body tensed, his toes curling delightfully.

"What do you think of that, baby? Hm? Think this lovely arse of yours could take both of us at the same time?" He grinned as the inner muscle flexed and squeezed hard around both cock and finger and Sherlock let out a strangled noise of surprise and delight. Greg hummed low as John let slip with a mangled sound of his own, a lusty groan that was choked off as he continued to move, thrusting in as deep as the obstruction of his lover's hand would allow.

"I bet it could... Start out nice and slow, yeah? Get some new big toys, and just keep working our way up, one right after the other until you're loose enough to take in a whole fist. Well, one of John's fists, anyway. Don't want you _too_ loose, do we? Oh, then it wouldn't be difficult at all for you to slide down on John's cock while I shove myself in nice and hard from behind. Or maybe I could fuck you wide open, just like tonight. And then John could start working his fingers into you around me, just like I'm doing to you now. And then - _oh_. And then he could slide in next to me and we'd both take our pleasure from you until you were nothing but a limp shell of a man between us... Oh, how wonderful would that be, baby?"

"Gre-" John's face was quite red, and he seemed to be having a bit of difficulty with his breathing, as his body was swiftly spiralling out of control. "Fuck. _Fucking_ fuck... Fuck me, you _filthy_ fucker."

Greg turned raised eyebrows on his lover, his head tilting in amusement. "Such language... In a moment, Captain my Captain." He reached out to tweak one of Sherlock's nipples hard. "Baby?" The desperate young man could only moan incomprehensibly, his head thrashing as his body tensed and shuddered. "Oh, we're going to absolutely _wreck_ you, Sherlock Holmes. Make sure that no other man will even think about encroaching on our territory, because he's going to bloody well feel us radiating off of you. We're both going to fuck you utterly senseless, and we're both gonna come so deep that the next time you break a sweat, it's gonna smell like us. Take you over, baby. Make you our little sex puppet."

_"Gregory!"_ John's voice was little more than a strangled gasp, his eyes absolutely desperate, the cords in his neck standing out in stark relief as his entire body shuddered violently.

"Pull out." John sucked in a great breath, but did as he was told, sighing in relief as Greg withdrew his hand and reached down to unsnap that damnable strap. He angled John's cock for him, grinning wickedly as the smaller man instantly rammed himself back in deep. Greg swiftly put a hand on John's arse, pushing him in deeper still, winking at Sherlock's utterly devastated face. John moaned and writhed into the slick heat, fighting back subtly against Greg's hold. But he kept himself as still as he could as the hand moved away, moved - down.

_"Fuck!"_ Of course Greg hadn't forgotten about the toy buried in his arse. Of _course_ not. John jumped as hard as the vibe did, his body shuddering once again as his lover gripped the base of the toy firmly.

"Now, John. Hard and fast, just like you said. Take him, my love. Use our pretty little sex-doll, use him all up. I got him nice and dirty, yeah?" Greg grinned wickedly, his tongue flickering nimbly over his bottom lip. "Now it's your turn to make him absolutely _filthy_."

"Oh Christ oh _sweet_ Jesus..." And then no more words as John did as he was told, driving in deep and strong into the helpless body underneath him. Sherlock arched his back and braced himself against the headboard, clenching down hard with everything that he had in him. Another mangled noise that may have been a curse from the good doctor's lips, but soon enough he was simply concentrating on keeping his breathing steady as his fine arse trembled and heaved and rocked frantically between Sherlock's eager, wet hole and the wildly vibrating toy in Greg's hand.

Greg used his free hand to wipe at the sweat that had fallen from John's face, mingling with the moisture that had already beaded up on Sherlock's pale belly. As he caressed their lovely sex-doll, another large drop fell, splashing over the back of his broad hand. He raised it to his mouth and casually licked it up, utterly transfixed by the scene unfolding in front of him.

When he took note of the first of the minute tremors working their way down John's spine, the tiniest hesitation in the rhythm of his thrusting hips, he flicked the vibrator on to the third and highest setting, and drove it in deep. John shouted as his legs locked, his toes digging into the mattress and he damn near folded poor Sherlock in half as he unloaded deep, oh so deep. Sherlock squealed as he felt the hot spurts pulsing within him, his eyes rolling back even as he shook his head from side to side and attempted to rub himself against John's taut stomach.

John gasped as Greg pushed the toy in even further, his face going a brilliant shade of red. "Greg...for fuck's sake will you just..."

"Pull out, Captain." Gritting his teeth, John shuffled backwards on his knees, letting Sherlock's legs slip from his grip, so that they fell open and wide. Greg reached between again, and withdrew the toy just far enough so that he could thrust it back in again viciously, at the same time stroking John's soaking wet cock from root to tip. The smaller man threw his head back with an anguished cry as another healthy amount of semen burst from the head, landing with a very satisfying splash on Sherlock's abused arsehole.

John took in a trembling breath and shook his head as Greg turned an absolutely evil grin on him. "Please, Gregory. _Please_."

"One more, Captain. I think you have just a bit left. Let's make sure you're drained completely dry, so maybe our little come-slut will actually be satisfied." He placed a gentle kiss on John's straining neck. "Just one more for Sherlock, my dearest love."

John opened his mouth to protest, but of course that was when Greg struck, once more employing the near-deadly combination of the toy and his hand to wring out another lovely, throaty cry and one final and quite meagre spurt of ejaculate. His foul deed finally done, Greg slipped the toy out of John's arse and flipped it off as he put it aside, cradling his lover's limp body close as he fell into him. John sighed into his chest as he regained his breath and gratefully shuffled to Sherlock's side as Greg directed him.

Sherlock was quite wrecked at this point, nearly devastated, his entire body glistening with sweat, his luxurious curls hanging limply as his chest heaved, sucking in short bursts of air through his nose. A steady line of drool was wending its way down his chin and throat, some gathering in the hollow and the rest simply soaking into the bedclothes. His usually bright quicksilver eyes were heavy and nearly completely glazed over with lust and oh yes - absolute _need_. Greg hunched over him briefly, biting down hard on one nipple, worrying at the small bruise that had been left behind from his earlier marking rampage. Sherlock drew in another quick breath, instantly back to awareness, although still quite ravaged and supremely needy. He squirmed against the weight of Greg's body and went on a muffled but nevertheless still undeniably vocal tirade.

Greg reached up and traced underneath his eye with his thumb, pressing a gentle kiss to temple and cheek. "Yes, baby. _Yes_." He sat back with a soft smile as Sherlock's demands petered out into nothing but sharp breaths being huffed in and out of his nose. "You want something inside you when you come, is that right?" The dark head nodded decisively. "Do you want a toy, or do you want my fingers?" Sherlock uncurled one hand from where it had been clutching tight to a bed post and pointed at Greg. "Oh, your wish is my command, sweetheart."

John smiled up at him tiredly from where he had slumped down onto one elbow, and gently dug one of his toes into Greg's solid thigh. With an answering grin, Greg trailed his hand down the length of the prone, quivering body and swirled his fingers in the slick left behind by John's cock before sliding three fingers in without hesitation.

Once more, Sherlock's back arched, his body bowing and straining as his head was thrown back against the mattress. Greg stroked him from the inside out, steady and deep. "Oh, baby...  You have been so very _thoroughly_ fucked, haven't you? Bet you could take more, though..." Greg hesitated briefly, throwing a questioning glance at John, who just shrugged at him idly. They had discussed their lover's seeming interest in his older brother, but until Sherlock decided to come to them with it, neither of them was entirely willing to broach that rather delicate subject. But perhaps just a hint to help get him there... "Maybe you know someone else who'd like a turn of his own at this debased arse of yours... Maybe there's someone that you think of when you're with one of us? Hm? Should we be jealous, baby? Do we know this illicit, secret lover of yours?" Sherlock's cheeks flooded with colour as he flailed his head from side to side, trying to deny Greg's words. "Shh, baby... _Shh_... It's all right. You know you can think of anybody that you want to, my love. Especially if that someone is tall, yes - even taller than you. If that someone has lovely, creamy skin all covered in freckles. But then, most gingers do, don't they? Someone with long, elegant fingers and a cool, soft touch. Someone with a voice like heavy silk being draped over your body..." Sherlock's eyes flew wide as John gasped and moaned incoherently. Seeming to reach inside for some extra reserves of energy, the younger man began to roll his hips desperately, bearing down hard on Greg's fingers as they pushed inside him. Greg grinned again. "Oh yes, that's done it. John, if you would be so kind..."

"Of course, my love." John smirked as he reached out to finally unsnap the strap that had been holding Sherlock together all this time. There was a long muffled moan of relief, and then a series of desperate needy squeals as his hips rolled and his prick bounced ineffectually against his belly. Greg let this carry on for a minute or two before he nodded curtly at John, and the smaller man wrapped his hand securely around their mutual lover's poor neglected prick. Another groan deep from within the narrow chest, and as Greg angled his fingers just so, the younger man finally and rather suddenly exploded like a geyser, copious streams of semen erupting over John's hand and his own belly and chest and making rather a mess out of the bedding.

Sherlock's whole body seized as his lovers continued to work him, his muscles squeezing so tight around Greg's hand that it cramped almost unbearably, and he found that he could not withdraw. So both he and John simply held on as the long body curled itself into a tight little ball and shook itself to pieces before eventually starting to relax by increments, the muscles under the skin twitching wildly with a number of aftershocks as his body seemed to let go, as his legs once more stretched out and his chest began heaving with breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of recovery, a bit more nastiness, and then some cuteness...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will include a bath for baby, and maybe an extra little treat for being so good, even if a bit whiny...
> 
> :) Hehe... 
> 
> Hope you guys are still liking it - please do let me know how I'm doing in the comments.
> 
> Kisses!

Once they were able to extract themselves from the tight clench of Sherlock's body, John reached for the ropes still around his wrists, and Greg went for the gag. They freed him from all restrictions and gently caressed and kissed his pale skin as their beloved boy-toy blinked himself back into some semblance of normality. The younger man let out a long contented sigh, a heavy deep breath that seemed to drift from somewhere around the top of his head to down near his toes as he melted into their loving attentions, his wrists being chafed gently to return blood-flow and soft lips on his neck and chest. With a mumbled noise that may have been a  _'Jesus Christ'_ or nothing at all, he captured John's hand and turned into Greg's chest, pulling the smaller man tight against his back as he tucked their twined fingers up next to his sternum. He planted his face in the crook of Greg's neck and sighed again as the older man pulled both of his lovers in close.  
   
"Hey, baby." There was a soft moan and a wave of warm breath as Greg pushed the damp fringe from Sherlock's face, running his fingers down a stark jawline and over swollen lips. His lover licked at his thumb almost absentmindedly as Greg swiped it over his mouth, and he deftly slipped it in, smiling as Sherlock suckled at the broad digit, a low rumble of pleasure echoing through his chest. This was his usual pattern after he had enjoyed his gag to its full extent, as he tended to need to feel something else on his tongue to help him come down completely. Of course, it was rare that either John or Greg would be employing fingers to satisfy this particular need, but since they had both already been fully satiated... Greg smiled as John rested his chin on Sherlock's upper arm, an answering grin lighting up his face as he watched the younger man's lips and tongue work at his lover's thumb. "Oh, you did so well, my love. John and I are very proud of you, in't that right?"

"I'm always proud of him, Gregory. But yes, you did extraordinarily well, my love. It's the most beautiful thing in the world when you give yourself over to us like that. Makes me all warm and tingly deep inside."

Greg grinned as Sherlock huffed out a weak snort of laughter, pushing his thumb out of his mouth with his trembling tongue. "Sentiment, John?" His normal baritone was only barely discernible, cracking and wavering over the syllables roughly.

John kissed his shoulder. "Yes, you daft thing. We both love you terribly, you know."

Sherlock snorted quietly again, but rather than rolling his eyes and scoffing, he simply wriggled down deeper into the mattress, pulling John closer as he shoved his face into Greg's chest. John smiled serenely and tucked his cheek into the younger man's arm, closing his eyes with a little sigh of satisfaction. Greg fought to keep his own open for now, knowing that some amount of cleaning up would be required before any of them could really get any decent rest. But just a few more minutes of cuddling couldn't hurt, right?

Despite his best efforts, Greg found that he couldn't quite keep his eyelids from dipping shut, and with a fleeting thought of _'oh, fuck it,'_ he let his head drop into the pillow. There was a quiet rumble from the lean body tucked firmly in between him and John, and then Sherlock cleared his throat delicately. He nuzzled into Greg's salt-and-pepper chest hair, and simply said, "Yes."

Greg roused slightly, barely lifting his head as he cracked one eye open somewhat resentfully. " _Mm_. What's that? Yes what, baby?"

"You and John. Both of you in me at once. Both of you stuffing me full, stretching me out unbearably." He shuddered and sighed again. " _God_. I - I want that."

_"Nghk."_ Okay, so at least that woke him up... Greg groaned as a certain part of his anatomy also came to attention with a hard jolt. Sherlock chuckled low as he started to slip a knee in between Greg's thighs, but then he suddenly stilled with a startled hiss of shock as John snarled quietly and sank his teeth into his arm.

Finally, he did start to giggle as he writhed between his lovers, unashamedly stoking the fires of their lusts with nothing more than the fleeting touch of his overheated skin. "So the idea holds a certain appeal, then?"

John simply growled, and Greg stifled another groan into the sweaty mass of curls on the top of Sherlock's head. "God yes, baby... Fuck, you know how much we'd love to see you absolutely shattered by us. Degraded and filthy, oh sweet _Christ_."

Sherlock hummed brokenly as John wordlessly indicated his agreement, sinking his teeth more firmly into his pale flesh with another muffled snarl. "Is it really degradation if the party involved is begging for it? If they willingly submit?"

Greg laughed quietly. "I am in no state of mind right now to be discussing the finer philosophical points of sexual submission, my love. Suffice to say, as much as we all obviously want the same thing, it isn't going to happen tonight, and none of us are even fit to discuss it at this moment."

John whined low in disappointment, but reluctantly disengaged his teeth from Sherlock's arm as the younger man sighed and nodded his head. "No, you are quite correct. I'm feeling utterly drained - I would not be able to take it. Not tonight. You took everything I had in me, Greg."

"Not everything, baby. After all, it's not like John and I had to find some way to sneak your lifeless body out of the flat."

Sherlock's quicksilver eyes twinkled merrily as a startled bark of laughter was forced from his lips. "Well, if it were to come to that, I've transcribed a few methods that should work rather nicely. I'll lend you my notes, if you like."

Greg grinned as he tilted Sherlock's head back and kissed his temple. "What makes you think I haven't already read them?" He winked cheekily. "Or know exactly which one I would put into practise?"

Sherlock giggled again as John shook his head in bemusement. "Christ, you're a couple of morbid little fucks. How did I ever become involved with you two?"

"An almost absurd addiction to danger, which I supply in abundance."

"Undeniable animal magnetism. Oh, and a nice hefty cock, if I do say so myself..."

John clicked his tongue in gentle annoyance as he ruffled Sherlock's hair. "Gregory, how many times have I told you that you're so much more to me than just an assortment of body parts? As wonderful as those parts may be..."

"Oh, Captain. I didn't say that my cock made you stay with me, just that it got you involved with me. Tell me honestly - if I hadn't stuffed it up your bum at that first opportunity, would you still have wanted to be with me?"

"What? You damn fool, of _course_ I would've." John pushed himself up on his elbow and glared down at his lover fiercely. "If you had been at all uncomfortable with the idea, if you had balked and said you wanted to take things slower, I would have. I wanted _you_ , Greg." His scowl softened as he gently disengaged his fingers from Sherlock's grip and ran them along and behind Greg's ear, tweaking the lobe lightly. "God, I wanted you so badly. And I would have happily followed your lead, even if it had taken us months to get to the fucking." He smirked crookedly. "Not that I wasn't delighted that we skipped all of that courting nonsense and got right down to business, of course. And not that I don't thank Providence just about every day that it saw fit to gift one of the loves of my life with a truly magnificent prick and a distinct talent for putting it to very good use. But it isn't your cock that I'm in love with. I love _you_ , and I would want you even if the damn thing didn't work. Is that clear?"

Sherlock giggled quietly as Greg stared in wonder and more than a little bit of chagrin, finally raising himself up to plant a solid kiss on John's lips. The smaller man moaned and clutched at the back of Greg's neck, pulling him closer as he opened his mouth, flickering his tongue in and around, tangling with his lover until they were both panting for breath. Sherlock writhed between them as they both grew hard again, lost in each other's eyes over his limp figure. With a little moan and a weak wriggle, he struggled to push them apart slightly, so he could snake one arm out from between them, grabbing at the bottle sitting innocuously on the bedside table.

Both Greg and John looked at him in befuddlement as he squeezed a more than generous amount out on his palm and then wrestled his hand back down and between. Sherlock spread his legs with a little wince of displeasure and smeared the lube between his thighs, still hot and moist from the earlier activity, and up between his arse-cheeks, not quite yet sticky enough to make things uncomfortable. He reached behind to grab at John's hip, pulling him in closer and squirming back just so, until his hard cock slipped into the wet cleft and the good doctor let out a long moan before beginning to rock into him almost unconsciously.

Sherlock shuddered with delight and turned his attention to the man plastered to his front, once more shoving his hand down below, tugging his own limp member and loose scrotum up out of the way before guiding Greg's stiff cock between his legs. He tensed his muscles as best he could and moaned low as both of his lovers moved against him languidly.

"Yes. Oh _please_... Use me again." Sherlock sighed as John buried his face between his shoulder blades and Greg tucked his into his neck. "I want to feel the connection that you share, want to feel the love that you have. Let me be the bridge between you. _Use_ me, love each other _through_ me." They both let out soft choked noises, random sounds of desire pushing through their lips as they obeyed.

Greg huffed out quiet laughter into the damp flesh of Sherlock's neck before lifting his face and placing a soft kiss on lips that were still puffy and wet from the extended use of the ball-gag. "Oh, baby... Now who's the sentimental one, hmm?"

The younger man did scoff at that, rolling his eyes with an exaggerated gesture and sighing melodramatically. "Oh, shut up and just use me already."

There was an answering giggle from behind, and John increased his pace slightly, rocking in between those luscious arse-cheeks with renewed vigour. Greg kept his motions soft and lazy, thrusting in and out between their sex-doll's thighs with long, sure strokes, murmuring quiet praises into Sherlock's hair or neck or ear, wherever his lips happened to end up as he ran his mouth over every bit that he could easily reach. Greg trailed his fingers down the pale skin, tracing the stark outline of his ribs before reaching down and tangling his fingers with those of John, who had clamped a possessive hand on Sherlock's sharp hipbone and was clutching at him hard. With a gentle moan, the younger man laid his free hand on their entwined digits, and simply held on as they pushed and pulled against him in a steady rocking rhythm. He sighed as his body was moved gently between them, feeling rather like an abandoned canoe that was drifting toward shore, toward shelter, always being pulled just out of reach by the steady pulse of the receding tide.   
   
Sherlock clenched his arse around John's thrusting cock, and giggled gently as the smaller man let out a blistering curse. Greg chuckled in return, pressing his lips to a sweaty forehead. "That's right, baby. You make us lose control, you know that? So beautiful, so unbelievably lush... Sex on stilts, that's what you are."  
   
John cursed again as Sherlock's quiet giggles suddenly erupted into full-throated, rolling laughter. The long, lean body absolutely quaked with his startled amusement, and after a couple more trembling strokes, John stilled against him, buried deep in between those luscious cheeks as his cock twitched and jumped and let out an extremely disappointing amount of spunk. John rode out his aftershocks as Sherlock quieted, still holding tight as Greg renewed his own thrusting, looking over Sherlock's shoulder to capture John's slate-blue eyes in his fierce dark stare. John blinked at him slowly, almost lazily, and mouthed, _'love you'_ at him with a little wicked grin.  
   
Greg's soft groan was choked off suddenly as his own body tensed and quivered, and it was only moments before he released again, flooding Sherlock's thighs with hot come. The younger man hissed and squirmed with delight, his own lusty noises overriding any of his lover's vocalisations. Greg clutched him tight as his legs clamped down on his throbbing prick, neatly squeezing out another small spurt. Sherlock sighed loud and long as his body stilled, eventually releasing his grip on their entwined fingers and throwing his arm over his head before rolling his face into Greg's chest once more. Both of his lovers laughed at him quietly, until he allowed himself a small smile.  
   
"There you are, my love. Are you happy now, our darling come-slut?"  
   
The younger man bit his lip as he lifted his trembling leg and reached down between, scooping up some of what they had gifted him with. He ran his fingers across his tongue and then smeared it all down his chest, his grin widening as both Greg and John sucked in harsh breaths. "Happy, yes. You might even say satisfied. For now."  
   
 _"Pfft!"_ John gave him a little shove before flopping onto his back, his face twisting into a slight grimace as he peeled away from Sherlock's backside.  
   
Greg just chuckled some more and wriggled into a sitting position, smiling as Sherlock protested the loss of his body-heat quite vocally. "Bath time, baby. There's no way we're stripping these disgusting sheets off of you later if you fall asleep now... I rather like the skin you're wearing, hate to see it yanked off in patches."  
   
 _"Unnhh..."_ Sherlock whined and twisted his body until he was face-down in the pillows, gently kicking at the mattress with his feet.  
   
"Yeah, you're real cute and all. Get up."

"Greeeg..." The long body writhed and twisted again, nearly smothering John as he flopped onto him without ceremony. The smaller man growled and shoved at him ineffectually, until Greg took his upper arm in a firm grip and hauled him upright. Sherlock scowled. "Don't wanna."

The silver-haired man simply shook his head and smiled softly as he ran his fingers over the stark cheekbones. "Oh, hearken to you, my precious whiny baby." He nipped at the tip of Sherlock's nose. "Let us take care of you, love. A nice hot bath, so that all these lovely marks will come up nice and purple, and oh won't your big brother be so jealous... And then a reviving nap in fresh, clean sheets." Greg cast an enquiring glance at John, who nodded with a little smile before beginning to gather the detritus that was scattered over the bed. "How's about that, hm?"

Sherlock fought down the smile that was threatening to break free, concentrating on his maintaining his scowl and adding a lavishly petulant sulk on top of it. "I like being dirty better. Love to feel all sticky, want your come to soak into me." Oh, and then there was the smile, slow and dark and wicked, as both of his lovers choked on nothing but air, and the mattress shook underneath their quaking bodies.

John groaned and tumbled off the bed. "I just can't. At this moment, I just cannot with you two." He mumbled to himself as he stalked off in the direction of the kitchen with his armload of soiled toys and tissues and God-only-knows what else.

The lovers that had been left behind glanced at each other and promptly burst into exhausted giggles. Greg stood and held his hand out, and Sherlock took it with a little sigh, swinging his long legs over the side of the mattress. He stared at the floor between his feet as though it were some unfathomably deep chasm, his quicksilver eyes blinking rapidly.

Greg pressed a kiss to his cheek before tugging on him again. "I have you, baby. Just trust me, yeah?"

Sherlock turned those brilliant eyes on him and frowned again. "Always, Greg. Don't you know that by now?" He slowly pushed himself onto his feet, ignoring the slight tremble that his lover had suddenly developed in his knees, putting himself completely in Greg's hands. After they had situated themselves with the older man's arm wrapped firmly around a trim waist and Sherlock's arm holding tight to his solid and dependable shoulders, they set off in a somewhat wobbly path toward the bathroom. About halfway there, Sherlock grimaced and huffed impatiently. "I may have overestimated the appeal of the stickiness a bit..."

"Heh. That's so often the problem with these little situations. God, when it happens and you're so very high on the sheer wonder and power of it all - and then ten seconds after you come..."

_"Eugh,"_ Sherlock agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bath time for baby, and maybe a little bit of a treat for being so very good for Greg and John...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know... So they're like superhuman, or something, okay? Eternal erections and loads of come just stored away in some magical spot in their bellies or something. I just - I don't know anymore... *sigh*
> 
> And yes, they are all stupidly in love with each other, and quite unbearably romantic and sickeningly sweet. It's all completely unrealistic, but then, I suppose that's why there's fanfiction in the first place, right?
> 
> Anyhoo - So here is yet another chapter of Greg and John looking after their sweet boy-toy, and I hope that you all enjoy it. Please let me know if you do! 
> 
> *mwah*

Greg sighed as they turned into the bathroom, but it was with a little smile. "Yeah." He swiftly got his limp burden settled on the closed toilet and turned on the tap in the tub, humming as the hot water ran over his fingers. While it was filling, he reached for the cup they habitually kept by the sink and filled it up before thrusting it in Sherlock's direction. "Drink up." The younger man obeyed, passing it back when it was empty and draining the second round without protest as well. He belched quietly behind the back of his hand, grinning as Greg nearly choked on his own draught of water. The older man ruffled his hair fondly before once more pulling him to his feet and guiding him into the tub. "Piggy."

"If you mean to call me greedy, then I suppose I have no choice but to agree. Especially where you two are concerned."

"Hm. Our dirty, nasty little pig. Yes."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but let Greg support him as he sank back into the hot water, a loud groan being forced up from somewhere down around his toes. "Oh _fuuuuck_. Yes, all right. Bath good."

Greg went down on his knees beside the tub and eyed his lover wickedly. "Mm. I know I have you right where I want you when you devolve to nothing but single syllable words and absurdly short sentences."

Greg grinned as Sherlock scowled and sank a little further down, his fierce expression doing nothing to hide the glimmer of contentment deep in his quicksilver eyes. "Bad man shut up now." Another bemused shake of that silver head, and Sherlock closed his eyes as he took a deep breath, sliding under the water completely, his bony knees sticking up awkwardly.

Greg kept a silent count in his head and a reassuring hand on his lover's breastbone, feeling the tension in the narrow chest as he fought the urge to open his mouth. After longer than Greg was entirely comfortable with even though the steady pounding of the heartbeat under his fingers had not altered one bit, the younger man finally surfaced for air with a great splash and an even greater gasp for breath. Greg swiftly captured his chin and turned his attention to his face, running his free hand over his head to push back his wet hair.  
   
"Shh, baby. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow and steady... Calm, yeah?" Sherlock nodded and kept his eyes focused on Greg's mouth, watching him suck air in and blow breath back out in an almost hypnotising rhythm, copying him unconsciously. "That's it..." Greg smiled as his lover's breathing returned to normal, and a little of the colour came back into his face. "You and your daft routines..."  
   
"You know why I do it, Greg. It helps me to bring my body back under my control."  
   
"And out of mine. Yes, baby. I know why you do it." Greg sighed as he reached for the shampoo and started to lather it over Sherlock's wild curls. "I guess - well..." The younger man tilted his head back slightly, almost purring as his lover's broad fingers caressed and scratched at his scalp lightly. "Maybe I just wish that you didn't think of it that way, that's all. You know that I would never really try to control you, Sherlock Holmes. I wouldn't stand a chance." He reached for the pitcher and ran a little clean water into it before tipping it over the bubbly mass of dark curls. Sherlock shook his head slightly and once more slicked his hair back before reaching out to grab at Greg's hand.  
   
"Oh, but that's where you're wrong. So very wrong... I'm already so deeply under your power. It's precisely because you don't push me, or try to hold me back, even when I'm about to do something utterly ridiculous and you're frightened for me. God, I'd let you do anything to me." His eyes burned into Greg's, and the older man found himself shrinking away slightly from the intensity of that quicksilver gaze. "Do you have - any - idea how fucking terrifying that is? For someone like me? For someone who has spent nearly his whole life trying to prove to himself and to others that he didn't want anyone, didn't  _need_ anyone? If you were to ask, I'd lay down at your fucking feet and I would allow you to do - anything. And oh my God, that just petrifies me and thrills me so completely that I just can't even... I think of you, and I short out, for fuck's sake." Sherlock pressed his lips to the back of Greg's hand, a solitary tear trickling down to splash on his skin. "I just - _please_. Give me this. Let me at least maintain some façade of independence, of self-control."  
   
Greg tilted his head and turned his hand to cup his lover's jaw gently. "You daft _sod._ I'd never take anything from you that you weren't willing to give, my love." Sherlock blinked at him as he leant in close and pressed a kiss to his temple. "Your body, your mind, your spirit. All yours, silly. You're just sharing with me, with us. That's all. We'd never ask you to give us everything. And we would absolutely never, ever take. Not without your permission." He smiled against damp skin before pulling back slightly to look into Sherlock's bewildered blue eyes. "But you do whatever you need to do, sweetheart. Just don't expect me not to tease you about it, because there's nothing lovelier than seeing that little frown between your eyes and those ridiculous cheeks of yours when they're nice and pink." He chucked him under the chin briefly and smiled at Sherlock's rueful grin. "Yes, I know that I can be a bit of a bastard about teasing you, but you're just so beautiful and it's fucking adorable when you blush like that and Jesus Christ, it makes my chest hurt when I look at you. I don't understand how you can think that you're under my power when it's obviously the reverse that's true."  
   
Sherlock blinked rapidly and opened his mouth to comment, but shut it again as Greg chuckled and brought him in for a solid kiss. The younger man sighed against his lips and opened up for him, humming low as his lover explored already quite well-traversed terrain. " _Oh_. Oh, yes." He closed his eyes as he swayed slightly, and opened them again to see Greg looking at him with utter devotion and a bit of fond concern.  
   
"You need a little something in that tiny tummy of yours, don't you?" Greg clucked at the little nose-wrinkle that popped up. "None of that, now. Just some juice and maybe a couple of those biscuits that your lovely brother brought back from his last trip to Denmark - the buttery ones. Can't tell me that you don't like those, since you've devoured at least half the tin all on your own." He started to shift back to his feet, turning his head as Sherlock canted his eyes to the side and let out a sharp snort of laughter.  
   
John was standing in the doorway, still starkers, a plate of those same buttery biscuits in one hand, and a large glass of juice in the other, a large smile blooming on his lips. "Guess I'm a mind-reader, hm?"  
   
Greg flopped back down on the floor, chuckling quietly. "There you are, love. Are those the last?"  
   
John nodded with a small moue of disappointment on his lips and Sherlock snorted once more. "For Heaven's sake, you two and your bloody bellies... If you like them that much, Mycroft can simply order more. Or hell, even send one of his minions out to fetch some of them for you. That's the very least of any number of things that he would be all too willing to do for either of you."  
   
"Or you, baby." Sherlock's eyes went wide as John settled down on the toilet seat and promptly stuffed a biscuit in his mouth before passing one to Greg. He bit it in half and chewed thoughtfully before feeding the other half to Sherlock, who took it gently from his fingers with his teeth, a quiet shiver pulsing through his body. "Mm. You know there's nothing in this great wide world of ours that he wouldn't do for his baby brother."

Greg reached down and pulled the plug on the tub, letting some of the cooling water out and then re-filling it nice and hot. Sherlock relaxed back again with a low moan, his eyes shifting between his lovers as they slowly consumed their post-coital snack, John solemnly doling out the biscuits and Greg sharing each one he received with him. Sherlock blushed as he delicately nibbled from his lover's fingers, both John and Greg looking at him with undisguised fondness. When the last crumb had been wiped away from plush lips with a broad, strong thumb and the last dregs of the juice had been drained, John stood with a little groan.

"Right. I'll just go see to that bed, then."

Greg nodded as he reached for a flannel and dipped it into the water, beginning to wipe at Sherlock's face without comment. John reached out to run his fingers through his silver hair, smiling down at the domestic tableau before retreating back to the kitchen with his dirty dishes. Sherlock hummed as Greg reached for the soap, grimacing slightly as he got a vigorous scrub behind the ears and then under his arms. The older man wasn't able to resist giving him a little poke in the ribs, but the only thing he got for his troubles was a healthy dose of water to the face as Sherlock jumped and flailed his arms.

"Bastard!"

"Mmnope. Pretty damn sure my Da was my Da, since I could be his bloody twin in looks, and I've seen the marriage certificate."

"I thought _I_ was supposed to be the pedant in this house..."

Greg grinned and winked as he began to trail the cloth down Sherlock's torso, gently wiping away the grime and sweaty aftermath of their earlier encounter. His eyes widened and then darkened slightly as he took note of the somewhat awkward condition that his lover suddenly seemed to find himself in. "And what's this, then? Didn't you say that you were - and I quote - 'utterly drained'? Where did this lovely surprise spring from?" Greg carefully avoided the rather healthy erection that the younger man was sporting in favour of scrubbing quite vigorously between the lean thighs and then up the crack of his arse as Sherlock tilted his hips to aid him.

Sherlock squirmed under Greg's scrutiny and his careful attentions, blushing fiercely. "I did not take into account the sheer eroticism of you bathing me, or the sensuous and caring manner in which you fed me those blasted biscuits. Now do you see what I mean about my body not being under my control any longer?"

" _Pfft_. I just think you like it when I take care of you. There's something different about this sort of thing, in't there, my love? Sure, I can tell you how much I adore you, love you, would do anything for you. But in the end, those are just words, in't that right? But this - oh. This, you can see, you can feel. This makes you _believe_. Rather like your silly git of a brother, now that I think on it. Poor lads. You must have been quite miserable when you were younger."

Sherlock blinked rapidly. "I - we..."

Greg shook his head. "You don't have to, baby."

"No. I... Hm. Let's just say that neither of us had any reason to believe what we were told. You are very perceptive, my dear Detective Inspector. They were just words, and words can be twisted to mask just about any meaning. Any physical displays of affection that we may have sought out were soundly rebuffed, unless it was just between Mycroft and myself. But not having learnt it from a young age, I don't think either of us were entirely comfortable with the practise ourselves. I still have moments where nothing more than a simple touch quite overwhelms me."

"I know, baby. There are times that I can tell it's getting to be too much, and I do try to give you space, but there are times where I'm not sure. I worry, y'know. That you're going to feel like I'm trapping you. I don't want that. I don't want you to be uneasy around me, or God, even afraid of me. I know I've said this before, but all you have to do is say that it's getting to you, or even straight-up tell me to back the fuck off. Don't you worry about hurting my feelings." Greg grinned brightly. "I can just go cry on John's shoulder, yeah?" Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly, but raised a dripping hand to gently caress his lover's face. Greg nuzzled into it softly, dropping the cloth into the water in favour of trailing his fingers down the inside of one taut thigh. "You just tell me when it's too much, and y'know - you can tell me what you need too, you silly thing." He let his fingers tickle along the heavy bollocks, floating gently in the water as he tucked his hand up underneath them and gave them a solid squeeze. Sherlock bit his lip and huffed a breath out from his nose, his neck tensing beautifully. The horribly intrusive hand continued to wander up, caressing his stiff length with an almost unbearably light touch. "My hand? Is that what you want, Sherlock? Want me to pull you off here in this tub, watch your come float all around this lovely abused body of yours?" Greg watched his expression avidly, turning his head slightly to nibble on the ball of his thumb. "No. Maybe you want my arse instead, hm? Want to bend me over the sink there, or maybe settle down on the toilet and have me ride you, make me do all the work? After all, it's my job to pamper you now, in't it? After using you so terribly?"

"Delightfully." Sherlock blushed and bit his lip a little harder, looking unaccountably ashamed and quite startled at having spoken up.

"Oh yes?" Greg grinned against his palm, his eyes lighting up as Sherlock's quicksilver gaze darted down to his lips and back up again. " _Ah_. My mouth, is it? You want me to suck you off, don't you? Want my tongue to work you over until you're nothing but a limp shell of a thing, is that it?" Sherlock groaned audibly, his body quivering under Greg's careful touch, his head going back as his own tongue flickered out over his plush lips. "Yeah. There it is. That's what you want." He reached down to pull the plug on the tub, watching the water swirl out from around that long, shivering body, dotted liberally with the nicely purpled marks that were now standing out in stark relief against the pale skin. "So beautiful." He smirked as Sherlock's hand clutched around his, as he helped him to his feet. Greg shook off his grip briefly, making sure that his lover was supporting himself against the tiled wall before once again filling up the pitcher and slowly trickling it over his shoulders, watching the water cascade down the curves and planes of Sherlock's body with greedy and jealous eyes. The younger man gasped as another pitcher was emptied over his backside and around to his groin, Greg once again fingering his stiff cock and tight bollocks. Greg's eyes absolutely blazed with desire even as he fought back a quiet laugh. "Forgive me, baby. Don't particularly relish the taste of soap. No - it's you I want to taste, nothing else." He helped his lover step out of the tub somewhat gingerly, standing there dripping onto the bath mat, looking rather like a straggly moggie that had been caught in the rain.

Sherlock's knees wobbled dangerously and Greg tucked himself in close as he could as he gently dabbed at his wet skin with a fluffy towel, wrapping one strong arm around his lover's waist as he leant into him gratefully. There was a violent shudder in the long body as Greg ran his hand over that plush arse, digging his fingers in hard to one round cheek. "Gregory Lestrade, you are a devil. Sin incarnate, and oh sweet Jesus, _yes_ \- I want your mouth on me."

Greg hummed with satisfaction as he went up on his toes to nibble on an enticing earlobe. "There. Now, was that so hard?"

The younger man shuddered again, tucking his face into Greg's neck with a bright blush. "Not difficult at all." He turned his head slightly with a little wink. "Maybe I just like watching you deduce me, Detective Inspector..."

Greg shook with silent laughter, swaying their bodies together as Sherlock giggled along with him. "Oh, I see. Got some kind of deductive kink, do you?"

Sherlock shrugged as he tilted his hips, grinding into Greg's side with a little whimper. "It's only logical, don't you think?"

"God, I love you." Greg pulled back slightly and reached up to clasp the sides of Sherlock's face gently. "It's a wonder my heart just doesn't overflow some days..."

Sherlock bit his lip again as Greg manipulated him into sitting on the closed toilet, shyly looking up at him with amusement and just a bit of awe. "You are a romantic fool."

"And you're just eating it up, aren't you?" Greg bent down for a thorough kiss, ruffling the damp curls. "My love. My Sherlock." The younger man swallowed hard as his lover tossed the folded towel down on the floor and sank onto his knees between his open thighs, no words left in that cavernous brain of his. No, no words, no thoughts, nothing in existence beyond the beautiful silver man who was even now taking him apart by bits and pieces, that clever, devilish tongue working at the sensitive bruises that he had left behind earlier. Sherlock's body jerked hard as Greg sank his teeth into his neck again, a loud groan being forced from between his lips as one hand wrapped around his shaft and gave it a healthy squeeze.

"Greg - I - oh _God_."

"Shh..." The hand released him even as the older man chuckled against his flesh. "I know, baby. Already close, aren't you?"

_"Ngh."_

"Heh." Greg moved down slightly, his tongue flickering against the hardened nubs of his lover's nipples, his strong white teeth briefly making an appearance as he nibbled on them delicately. He hummed again as both of Sherlock's hands plunged into his hair, holding tight even as he squirmed against him wantonly. He took some time to lavish attention on his navel, chomping down with gusto on the tiny little roll of flesh that appeared as Sherlock hunched down over his head. He pinched at it gently, rolling it between his fingers as his lover shuddered and whimpered above him, delighting in the ripples of gooseflesh that cascaded over the pale body, all because of him. Another quiet hum as he ducked his head lower, nuzzling in between the trembling thighs, closing his eyes in bliss, scraping the stubble of his cheek over the tender skin and inhaling Sherlock's scent as his nose dipped closer and closer, smiling wickedly as the younger man shook and shuddered, absolutely desperate for his touch.

_"Gregory."_  Both of the men locked in their embrace jolted out of their reverie suddenly, Sherlock with a sharp gasp and blazing cheeks, and Greg with an utterly blissful - if a bit guilty - expression. John was once more standing in the doorway, his stance spread and his arms folded securely over his chest. "I know that I have said this before, although I don't know why I'm even saying it now because I'm sure that I will have to say it again at some point. You are a monstrous tease. Poor baby there was very, very good for us earlier, and you're behaving like a beast, making him so needy and all. He'll go mad before too long, and the last thing that we need running around in this flat is a deranged Holmes."

Greg rolled his eyes at him as a small jolt of annoyance trickled through his chest. "Pfft! You little wanker... You're more impatient than he is!"

"I want to get cleaned up too, goddammit."

_"Greg..."_ Sherlock's fingers dug into the sides of his head gently, and the older man looked up in surprise. The quicksilver eyes did look a bit wilder than usual, the pupils standing out as black holes, the edges pinched and his forehead crinkled in something resembling pain. "Please. Oh please..."

The older man tilted his head slightly, a bit of hardness entering his gaze. "Please what, baby?"

Sherlock shuddered again, his desperate eyes dipping shut as he nodded in quiet resignation. " _Please_ , suck me off." Greg instantly rewarded him for giving in, for using his sodding words, the silly git, swirling his tongue around the head of his cock before dipping his head down low, taking all of him in one long slide. He paused momentarily as he bumped against his lover's pubic bone, breathing in carefully through his nose as Sherlock shouted and squirmed against him. Greg hummed low, holding onto Sherlock's hips to prevent him from bucking, and as he continued to breathe steadily, hummed again, the corners of his lips turning up as the flesh tucked in between his tongue and soft palate jumped wildly. He pulled off with a resounding pop, a distinct swirl of warmth pooling in his belly at seeing Sherlock already looking quite wrecked as he gazed up at him from under his lashes. Before John could begin to lecture him again, he once more took his lover's prick into his mouth, and began to move his head in a steady rhythm, tugging on his bollocks and gently running his fingers along and behind, tickling and teasing at the seam as he sucked at him quite relentlessly.

Sherlock let out another sharp shout, spreading his legs wider and slumping back, his head nearly colliding with the wall behind the toilet. Greg was only dimly aware of John's shadow moving from the door to behind him and then over to the other side of Sherlock's precarious seat, wedging his small body in between that and the tub, leaning over their mutual lover, taking his mouth with a soft but insistent kiss. Greg hummed again as he blocked it all out, ignoring the quiet moans and slick sounds of tongues clashing, narrowing his awareness down to one thing, the feel of a slender, quivering cock in his mouth, on his tongue, the soft skin of heavy bollocks inexorably tightening in his hand, the tensing of the muscles in Sherlock's thighs as he tried to hold back, but ultimately giving in as all control was neatly whisked away by Greg humming and licking and sucking just so, as he rubbed just there, and as the younger man started to rock his hips desperately, Greg opened his mouth and his throat wide and just let Sherlock take what he needed, and it was only two or three deep strokes before that long body stilled completely, as all of his muscles once again seized, as John swallowed his muffled curses and cries against his tongue as that lovely prick jumped and released against his own, as his mouth was flooded with his lover's come, salty-bitter and oh - _so_ perfect. Greg closed his lips tight around Sherlock's shuddering flesh, eager to prevent any of his seed from escaping, swallowing it all down greedily as his lover whined and writhed and panted through every small aftershock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg & John have some time to themselves...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this has been a BEAST of a week. I really didn't think I was going to have anything to post, as I haven't been able to devote much time to my muse. But I have this, and even though it breaks before the smut, I think it's decent enough to suffice as my weekly posting. Hopefully I will be able to reconnect with my wild woman and have more for you guys on Monday. Hopefully...
> 
> As always, comments are manna from Heaven! Please help me to entice my muse out of hiding!
> 
> Kisses, my lovelies...

Greg licked Sherlock as clean as he was able, savouring every drag of his tongue against pale flesh and finally sat back on his heels, smiling gently as his lover quivered under his gaze once more. With a soft hum of approval, John turned in his rather awkwardly small space and snagged the used flannel that was sitting on the bottom of the tub, wringing it out and wiping it delicately over Sherlock's trembling bits. The younger man hissed in displeasure and clamped his legs shut abruptly, angling away from the overload of sensation. John just shook his head and reached out to pull Greg to his feet before clambering into the tub himself and starting to run the water, testing the temperature against his palm.  
   
He looked to Sherlock with a piercing gaze. "Think you'll be all right on your own for a bit, love?"  
   
Sherlock scowled. "Why wouldn't I be?"  
   
"Because - whether you like to admit it or not, you are a great big cuddle-monster and you are sometimes quite persnickety if you don't get the required amount of said cuddles, especially after you've just gotten off rather spectacularly."  
   
 _"Persnickety?"_ Sherlock sniffed imperiously and fidgeted as both of his lovers smiled at him with what he deemed to be rather irritating fond expressions. "Why do you ask?"  
   
"Well, Greg and I need to clean up, obviously. If you need us, then we'll be quick. If you don't, then I would like a bit of a soak myself, and depending on how that goes, we may be in here for quite a while. As you two have just shown, bathing together tends to take a bit of time."  
   
Sherlock tilted his head with a small smile. "You wish to have some time alone with Greg."  
   
John returned the smile, but bit his lip as he dropped his eyes. "Only if you don't mind, love."  
   
"Hm." The younger man pushed himself into a standing position, scoffing at himself as his knees wobbled. Greg instantly reached out to wrap an arm around his waist and Sherlock smiled down at him a little shakily. "Why would I mind? You both deserve to have some time together when you're not dealing with a petulant man-child." He suddenly yawned mightily and slumped against his support, causing Greg to stagger slightly under his weight.  
   
He turned a wink on John as he started to settle into the tub. "Right then. I'll just get this lump tucked in and then I'll be back in a flash."

John sank back into the hot water with a long, heartfelt sigh. "I'll be waiting."

Greg essentially dragged his limp burden down the hall, chuckling low at Sherlock's obvious reluctance to being left alone. "Really - a quick shower would be just fine if you want us there with you."

"I shall be just fine on my own, Greg. I will prove it to you, by God."

"Pfft."

Sherlock stopped in the doorway to their room and looked down his nose at his silver-haired lover. "You've been doing that a lot this evening." The older man quirked an eyebrow, and Sherlock sighed heavily. "Pfft."

Greg broke out into sudden giggles, burying his face into Sherlock's chest. He blew a wicked raspberry against one pale pink nipple, pulling back as his lover jerked and gasped audibly. "Pfft, you silly git." He tugged him in the direction of the bed and started to pull down the duvet. They both stopped short at the crisp clean lines of the bedding, the top sheet pulled tight as a drum and tucked quite securely between the mattress and divan. Greg shrugged as Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "I obviously haven't any coins on me, but I betcha they would bounce pretty damn high..."

Sherlock growled as he started to yank at the sheet rather ineffectually, still weakened by all his prior activity. "Why - would he - even - gah, dammit... He knew that we'd be back, what was the point? Oh, for fuck's sake!"

"Shush, baby." Greg took hold and started tugging, making much quicker progress in freeing the material from the tight grip of the divan. He held it up for his scowling lover, smiling as Sherlock more or less threw himself into the bed, instantly curling up in the middle as Greg draped first the sheet and then the duvet over him gently. "Just an ingrained habit, and you know how he likes things to be neat and tidy."

"Ridiculous. It always gets messed up again."

"Especially when you're around, my love."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose as Greg ducked down for a kiss. _"Pfft."_

Greg giggled quietly as he shuffled backwards through the door. "Well said."

Sherlock turned a bright if sleepy grin on him and then tucked his face down into the pillow, wriggling into the clean bedding with a happy little sigh. Convinced that the great consulting detective would at least stay put for a little while, Greg joined his other lover in the bathroom, looking down at him as he relaxed against the back of the tub, his eyes closed as he ran an idle hand along his belly. Whether it had been awakened due to the little show he had just witnessed, or whether John had renewed its interest with his touch, that lovely cock of his was bobbing gently in the water, nicely plump and well on its way to becoming fully hard again.

Greg chuckled quietly, turning his most wicked grin on the good doctor as he jumped slightly and turned suspicious eyes on him. Oh, but when he met that dark gaze, there was an answering twitch from down below and well, then Greg felt a little stirring in his loins as well. He shook his head slightly. "And do you want the use of my mouth as well, Captain Watson?"

John sat up slowly and scooted forward in the tub. "I want you to get into this water with me, and that's it for now. To be honest, I would be perfectly happy with nothing more than a bit of a snuggle." He frowned down at himself. "Feel free to ignore the nuisance. He and I don't always see eye-to-eye, you know."  
   
Greg smiled as he carefully stepped into the tub and bent to support himself on John's capable shoulders as he planted his bum under the water and wriggled his legs around his lover's body. John sighed again and pressed back against him, humming low as Greg caressed him languidly. "Well, my love, I cannot say that he and I have ever argued. In fact, we get on just _splendidly_." He laid a kiss on the top of John's head. "Maybe you should just be a little nicer to him."  
   
John finally broke out into breathless little giggles, squirming against Greg's skin delightfully. "I would say that you are nice enough to the nuisance for both of us, you silly fool."

They both laughed together for a while, and John sighed happily as Greg took the opportunity to wrap his arms securely around the tight body leaning up against his chest. "You fit into me so nicely... My tiny Army man."

John twisted and glared up at his face, but there was a curve at the corner of his mouth that he was having difficulty concealing. "You're the only one who gets away with that sort of nonsense, you know. Anyone else would have been cracked across the face a long time ago."

"Oh, trust me, that has not escaped my notice, Captain." Greg grinned as he trailed one wet finger along John's jawline. "My Captain..."  
   
John twisted his body so that their chests were pressed together, planting his feet against the tub to give him the leverage he was seeking in order to smother that infuriating but delightful grin under his own mouth. Greg hummed and writhed underneath him, reaching down to grasp John's arse in both hands. John finally let go of the tension in his body as Greg moved languidly against him, sinking back into the water slightly and tucking his cheek into his chest.

John traced the rough circle of one dusky nipple delicately and sighed again, his voice low and nearly soundless. "And I thought I loved you before..."

"What's that, sweetheart?"

"Before." John gestured vaguely at their surroundings before resuming his gentle fingertip explorations. "Before this. Our first day together, if I'm honest. That first time I had you underneath me, when you were damn near passed out."

Greg hummed again, his prick twitching with gentle interest. "I remember. You _had_ just delivered a rather spectacular blowjob."

John snorted. "Not that I lack any faith in my abilities, but you were utterly knackered, love. It probably wasn't my best work, seeing as how I could barely think, being so turned on and all." He stretched against Greg's body, tilting his hips so that a certain part of his anatomy had a little room to grow. Greg made a noise, a sultry low groan and sigh mixed together. John shuddered. "Stop distracting me."

"Not my fault. You're the one bringing up some very lovely memories."

John shook his head with a small amount of consternation. "I'm trying to speak my heart here, y'know. This isn't exactly easy for me." Greg gave him a little squeeze and settled down, running his fingers along his arm. John chuckled and paused briefly, gathering his thoughts. "Right. So you had gone utterly limp, and I climbed on top of you and then I had to stop and just _look_  because you were so unbelievably gorgeous that I went completely stupid for a moment. I mean, it was like I forgot how to breathe, how to think. Everything was wiped away as I looked down at you, and then you opened those luscious, dark eyes of yours, and it all rushed back in, all at once, and I thought, 'this is precious, this is real'. Nobody had ever felt as _real_ to me as you did in that moment. I loved you then, even if I refused to acknowledge it, like the stubborn bastard that I am."

"Me too, my love, although I didn't have the same kind of grand epiphany. It was more like a series of small realisations, little gut feelings that I just couldn't ignore. I'm surprised that I didn't wind up getting sick on you, with as much swooping and diving that my stomach was doing that afternoon."

John giggled. "Well, thank God for small favours, I suppose. Not that it would have chased me away had you been ill, of course." He let his fingers wander through and tangle into Greg's chest hair briefly. "I was already quite attached, even on that first day. I would have taken care of you, Greg. Would've cleaned you up and tucked you in and looked after you. Yes, I thought I loved you even then."  
   
Greg huffed out a quiet bark of laughter, pulling John up slightly to press his lips to his jaw. "Oh, you _thought_ so?"  
   
John smiled and nuzzled into his neck. "Before this. Before Sherlock. Yeah, I thought I did. But then I saw you with him, watched the way you love him, and I realised that what I felt before was nothing more than an echo of what I was capable of feeling for you. It's kind of ridiculous, because there's a part of me that thinks that I should be jealous as fuck, that I should want to lock you away and keep you all to myself, but it just isn't there. I watch you with him, and I love you even more. And now with Mycroft in the picture as well... I see you with _both_ of them and I feel all stupid and fuzzy because you're just so fucking caring, they were alone and unloved for so long and you give them everything that they need and how do you do that?" John shook his head slightly. "Hell, I just don't understand how I could feel anything else because I thought I'd given it all, but then there's more. There's always more. How can that be?"  
   
Greg smiled and tucked him even tighter into his arms. "Because I put a spell on you, that's why. You're all under an enchantment. In reality, I'm nothing but a nasty, ugly old witch and when I've used your lovely bodies all up to my satisfaction, I'm going to roast each and every one of you in a great big oven and pick your bones clean. You - I may put in a stew." He shrugged idly as his lover tilted his head to stare at him in stupefaction. "Not sure yet."  
   
John grinned brightly. "You may have to fatten up the brothers a bit. Both of them are hardly anything but bones - much more suitable fodder for the stock-pot, don't you think?"  
   
"Hmm. You may have something there, my delicious little chicken..." John sputtered and giggled as Greg gave him a healthy poke under the ribs. "Oh, yes, you'd make a much better roast. With some nice crispy potatoes, I should think. _Yum yum_."  
   
"You are a daft git and a completely, utterly ridiculous man, Gregory Lestrade, and I still can't believe just how much I love you."  
   
Greg pinched John's chin between thumb and forefinger and gently tilted his face up to his. "Show me, John." His eyes were dark and serious, even as a hint of a smile ghosted around the corners of his lips. "I know that you sometimes find words to be difficult, even if you've done a remarkable job with them so far. After all, you are a man of action, aren't you?" He lightly ran his thumb under his lover's bottom lip. "My brave little soldier. So instead of telling me, why don't you just show me how much you love me?"

John rolled his body until they were pressed together, nuzzling into Greg's hand as he propped his chin up on his sternum. His pupils expanded suddenly, until there was next to nothing of the slate-blue remaining, and Greg shivered slightly. The look in his eyes, well, it wasn't exactly hungry, although there was a definite light of desire, of simple lust lurking in the depths. It was more like a deep sense of satisfaction, knowing that the man underneath him was willing to place himself wholeheartedly into his capable hands.

Greg smiled again, even though his heart was tripping like a jackhammer in his chest. "Take care of me, my love."


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes care of Greg...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another week where I wasn't sure I was going to be able to post, but here it is!
> 
> I hope it suffices - please do let me know...
> 
> Kisses, my lovelies.

John tilted his head and lifted his chin, bobbing it curtly in assent. He placed the palm of his hand over Greg's heart and smirked slightly as the older man shuddered underneath him again. "Right you are." He squirmed and came up on his knees, reaching behind himself to pull the plug on the tub. "First of all, this water is fucking freezing. So we'll need to get warmed up a bit, I think." He stood carefully and reached down to pull Greg up before once again running the water hot, this time opting for the shower. Greg moaned quietly as the spray cascaded over him, and John held him close under the water, waiting until he had gone a bit limp under the divine warmth. "That's it, my love. Close those eyes of yours, gorgeous."  
   
Greg simply swayed where he stood, and let his shoulders drop a bit as his eyelids fluttered shut. He concentrated on keeping his breathing slow and steady as John pushed and pulled him in whichever direction he liked, making sure that he was thoroughly drenched before reaching for the bottle of shampoo. John hummed low as he reached up to lather up his lover's silver hair, and Greg melted just a little more under his small but strong fingers, as they massaged and caressed and scratched at his scalp lightly. Then his head was tilted back slightly, as John directed him back under the spray, letting the water rinse away all of the suds. The warmth of his small body drifted away, but as Greg reached out for him blindly, John made a quiet shushing noise and ducked to place his shoulder directly underneath his lover's grasping fingers. Greg sighed and traced over the curve of his arm, down along the bicep, his fingers curling around it, holding him in place gently. John hummed again, and Greg shivered as the sound struck at something deep in his belly. His head dropped forward of its own volition as a soapy flannel was dragged slowly along the nape of his neck and around and down the column of his throat before tracing the outline of his collarbone.

Greg let out another soft exhalation, the barest beginnings of a moan pushing past his lips as John scrubbed him clean, taking infinite care with every inch of his skin. Both hands were in constant motion, soft fingertips caressing the spots that the rough cloth had already travelled, tracing small circles in the soapy lather left behind and raising gooseflesh in their wake. Down his breastbone with significant detours around his pectorals, special care being lavished on his nipples along the way. Tripping delicately along his sides, playing a subtle tune on the keys of his ribs to counterpoint the rhythm of his wildly beating heart. John laughed quietly as he tweaked the small bit of pudge surrounding his lover's navel, and the muscles of his stomach jumped wildly under his teasing touch.

Greg hummed as the flannel took a definitive sweep downward, but then gasped in disappointment as John neatly avoided the one part of him that was absolutely desperate for contact. His lover chuckled at him again, and shushed him once more as Greg opened his mouth to protest.

"I have you, sweetheart. Just trust me."

Greg's head went back under the spray for a moment, as the muscles in his neck contorted under the influence of the deep timbre that John's voice had taken on. He gasped again when he was able to let his body go pliable under the water, under John's touch. "Always, my love." He smiled slightly at the sound of his own voice, wavery and a little uncertain. Greg cleared his throat before muttering an emphatic, _"Always."_

John rewarded him for this by going up on his toes and kissing him warmly but briefly, swiftly disengaging his mouth in favour of rubbing their cheeks together and nuzzling into his neck. The flutter of his lover's eyelashes along his jawline nearly made Greg swoon then and there, but he just barely managed to keep his knees from buckling by reaching out and bracing himself against the tiled wall.

"That's it, my love. The only thing you need to do is make sure you keep these fucking _fantastic_ legs of yours holding you up."

John's body heat lessened slightly and moved down, and Greg's heartbeat once again started sounding in his ears as he realised that he was going to his knees in front of him. "Oh, dear God." John giggled as the soapy cloth was swiped over the top of Greg's left foot and slowly started to make its way up his leg, over shin and around to calf, a healthy scrub behind the knee and then up around the back of his thigh.

John hummed with deep appreciation as he ran the flannel back around to the front, giving his thigh a nice hard squeeze. "Have I ever told you how much I love these legs of yours?" Greg made a vague noise of assent, almost afraid to open his mouth, lest something utterly embarrassing fall off his tongue. John hissed in a short breath as the muscle flexed under his fingers with Greg's attempt to lock his knees in place. "Fuck, yes. So solid and strong. Meaty. Sometimes, I get the urge just to clamp my legs around one of these thighs and rub and rut against it until I come all over you like some animal."

"Oh, sweet buggering Jesus. J... _John_..." Greg's fingers scrabbled against the tile as his head swam dangerously.

The smaller man hummed again as he pressed his cheek to Greg's inner thigh, his stubble scraping deliciously along the sensitive flesh. "Oh, I know, my love." He switched sides, choosing to run the flannel from the top of Greg's right leg to the bottom, reversing the action he had taken with the left, but moving with the same, slow deliberation. "Yes, I know..." He kept his face tucked into the top of Greg's left thigh, one hand wrapped around the back securely as he cleaned him carefully with his free hand. John's damp hair brushed against Greg's bollocks as he moved, the touch maddeningly light, and Greg was certain that it was quite deliberate on the part of his devilish little army man. He bit his lip in an attempt to keep the impending certainty of begging at bay for the moment, heaving out an almost silent sigh of relief as the cloth drifted over the top of his foot and then away.  
   
He heard the slight creak of John's knees as he once more regained his feet, and found himself tensing as his lover's touch, his body heat, moved away slightly. Greg reached behind himself blindly and adjusted the tap, so that the water once again ran nice and moderately hot. Then he jumped and let out a strangled sort of sound as John suddenly latched back onto his side, turning their entwined bodies so that he could share in the warmth as well. Greg swiftly slipped his arm around his waist and pulled him in close, pressing his lips to his temple. John moaned quietly as Greg ducked his head, as he nibbled on the top of his ear and down, giving the lobe a gentle tug with his teeth. Greg grinned as John's tight little body trembled against his, as he nosed down even further, licking a long stripe from the hollow of his neck to his jawline.  
   
John gasped and pushed at him gently but insistently, working his arm away from his waist, but not succeeding in pulling away completely, as that same arm settled along his shoulders quite firmly. "Not yet. You aren't clean, Gregory."  
   
Greg growled low. "Bollocks."  
   
John laughed, wicked and deliciously dark. _"Exactly."_ Greg stiffened as that damn flannel was abruptly applied to his nether regions, as John's clever fingers rolled and caressed and massaged his needy flesh under the cloth. A fresh lather had apparently been worked up, and Greg relaxed once more under his lover's capable hands, relishing in the odd sensations of the slippery foam, combined with the rough material of the flannel as he was worked over expertly, a long, sure stroke from root to tip and back down again, further down, cupping the aforementioned dangly bits and giving them a gentle squeeze. Greg clung to John's shoulders and spread his legs as that damned flannel dipped lower still, thoroughly clearing away any remaining mess from between his thighs. He shuddered at John's low moan as his small hand worked itself even further back, scrubbing at his hole with deliberate purpose before moving back up across his perineum, his fingers pressing and rubbing hard all along the way. Greg stifled his shout into the top of his lover's head, his arm convulsively pulling him in tighter to his body.  
   
"Captain..." Greg felt John's tight body sway toward him as his hand closed over his cock once again, working the soapy cloth up and down, up and down, in a slow but intoxicating rhythm. He thrust his hips forward, his entire body shivering as John played him like a goddamn musical instrument. "Captain, please..."  
   
He was only barely aware of John's head shaking slowly from side to side, could damn well feel the tightening in the muscles under his grip, as his lover strove to gather his own body back under his control. "Stand fast, sweetheart. Not just yet."   
   
"Killing me. That's what you're doing, you _do_ realise that, right?"  
   
John went up on his tip-toes, placing his mouth right to Greg's ear. "Do you want me to stop?"  
   
Greg growled again as the breathy tone of his lover's voice struck right into his core, a sizzling strike of lightning straight to his cock, causing it to jump wildly in John's hand. "Never. You are a glorious, wicked fiend and God help me but I would let you do anything to me, John. Anything. As long as you don't stop. _Ever_." John sighed with contentment, and his breath ghosting over Greg's ear was suddenly the most fucking fantastic thing he had ever experienced. "Again. Please."  
   
John obliged, a wicked little laugh riding along with his exhalation and damn if Greg's knees didn't bloody well nearly give out on him right at that moment. "Steady on, my love." The smaller man wriggled his body, neatly shedding his lover's grip as he clasped his waist in both hands. "Turn around. You can touch to make sure you're rinsed properly, but nothing more, is that clear?" Greg nodded miserably and turned around under the spray, running one hand over his chest and belly to aid in relieving himself of the soap clinging to his skin. He could feel John's heat along his back, and he knew that he was undoubtedly peering around to make sure that the most that Greg did with that sneaky hand of his was to gently tilt his aching and quite rock-hard prick from side to side under the water, and splash a little underneath to rinse his bollocks and between his thighs. John sighed again as the flannel began a slow sideways sweep along Greg's back. "So obedient. You're going to get a treat for being so good for me, you know..."  
   
 _"Nghk."_ Both hands abruptly came up to brace against the tiled wall once again, as Greg's head fell forward with the force of his shuddering body. "Jesus. John, please."  
   
"The begging is a lovely addition, although it won't get you very far. You know how I like to take my time, especially when you're this kind of desperate." Greg whimpered as the barest touch of the cloth was run over and along the crack of his arse. He arched his back and locked his arms, pushing back into his tormentor and wriggling his bum just so. He moaned as he hit his mark on the first try, as John's equally rock-hard and no doubt throbbing prick slid easily into that slick soapy crevice. The noise that came bubbling up from his lover's chest and out from his lips absolutely made Greg's spine lock in place and he found himself quite unable to move. The noise came again, a strangled sort of growl and moan and sigh all in one, pure desire and lust given voice. Greg grinned to himself as he heard the distinct squelch of the wet flannel hitting the bottom of the tub, and groaned quietly as both of John's hands came up to grasp at his hips with almost bruising force. He found his odd paralysis shaking off of him with a gentle shiver, and instantly took advantage, rolling his hips and pushing back just a bit further, shuddering as that perfect cock slipped down and between, the head pressing against his pucker with a deliberate touch. John growled as he thrust again, his hands tightening on him painfully. "And yet - Jesus fucking _Christ_  - you manage to make me lose myself every single fucking time, Gregory."  
   
Another slick slide, and Greg clamped his legs shut and wriggled his arse enticingly. "Fuck yes, John. Fuck me, _please_."  
   
"No." Greg gasped as John withdrew his prick from the pleasing clutch of his thighs and stepped back, releasing him completely. Then there was a gentle touch at the nape of his neck, trailing down the curve of his spine, and he straightened under the spray, keeping his eyes closed as he turned in surprise. John laughed quietly and reached up to caress his face, smoothing away the wrinkle of worry on his lover's brow with a light touch. "I am not going to give in to my baser urges here, Gregory. I'm taking care of you, remember?"  
   
"I fail to see how one precludes the other, John."  
   
John's fingers stilled on his face and Greg felt his body heat wash over him as his lover swayed toward him unconsciously. "Jesus. You sounded just like Sherlock for a moment there, my love."  
   
One corner of Greg's mouth quirked up, almost against his will. He shook it off with a little whine. "Johhnn..."  
   
"No. I have plans, and you are not going to derail them."  
   
"This water is well on its way to going completely ice-cold, and you can bet your sweet little arse that will derail things pretty _fucking_ quick, Captain."  
   
There was nothing but silence after his little outburst, and Greg cringed slightly, thinking that perhaps he had pushed just a bit too hard; almost expecting John to rip into him for being nothing more than an impatient and greedy bastard. He took in a slow, deep breath and started to open his eyes, knowing that if was to mollify his lover, the full force of those chocolate-brown orbs would certainly need to be put to use. In the next moment, John was firmly plastered to his front, one hand covering his eyes, keeping them shut. "Hush now." Greg shuddered slightly as John fumbled behind him for the tap and adjusted it for more warmth, waiting until his lover had once again relaxed under the spray. John's voice was low and gentle as he soothed his hands over Greg's brow, down both sides of his neck, to his shoulders and then along his collarbone before travelling downward. "You're trying to tap into the wrong thing here, my love. Remember, you're in my care, not under my command."  
   
Greg shuddered again as he ducked down, blindly seeking out John's forehead so he could simply rest his own head there. He felt his shoulders drop as he made contact, and sighed quietly. "Doctor Watson..."  
   
" _There_ we are." Greg felt John's low hum of satisfaction resonate through his own chest as the smaller man tucked himself closer, wrapping one arm around his waist and lightly tickling at his arse with his fingers. They simply stood there like that for a long moment, until the water once again began to chill. With another hum, John turned the tap off completely and then stepped back only far enough to take Greg's waist in his hands. He manoeuvred him against the side of the tub with his back firmly pressed up against the tiled wall. Greg kept his head ducked and body pliable, arms hanging loose at his sides as he once again allowed John to pull him in any direction that he chose. "Oh, yes. There we are indeed."  
   
Greg's breath caught in his throat as John took his right hand in his and brought it up to his lips. He kissed his palm, the tip of every finger, gently drawing each broad digit into his mouth for a long, tender suck before stretching out his arm and making sure that he was braced solidly once again. John then took Greg's left hand and gave it the same treatment, this time opting to place it on his shoulder, close to his neck. Greg massaged the solid muscle, running his hand along the nape of John's neck and cupping it with a firm but gentle grip. John made a quiet noise of pleasure as his lover's fingers tickled through the hair at the back of his neck, but Greg didn't move his hand too far. After all, this was where John had placed him, so this is where he would stay.  
   
He gasped as John's head moved closer to his chest, as his hip was pressed close to his thigh. He rolled his body so that it was flush against Greg's, his own arousal quite obvious as it nestled in between his legs. Greg stiffened, but he bit his lip to keep his noise to a minimum, to keep his goddamn begging to himself. There was a feather-light brush of lips along his clavicle, a gentle teasing touch circling his right nipple, and Greg resolutely kept his mouth shut. John simply hummed as a reply to his lover's attempt to hold himself absolutely still, turning his head and ducking down slightly to flicker his tongue against the neglected nipple on the left side. Greg's skull bounced solidly against the tiles as his head went back and he just could not hold back on the lusty groan that burst forth from his lips. He felt John's mouth curve against his skin in triumph, but found that he simply did not care, that he would let his good doctor take whatever victory he wished to claim. Especially as that same wondrous, lovely, oh-so- _good_ doctor started to once more slide down his body, going to his knees in front of him.

"Oh dear..." There was a light, feathery touch at the base of his stiff prick, a gentle squeeze with forefinger and thumb. Greg gasped and moaned, his hand clutching at John's hair quite involuntarily. "This does look a bit - inflamed." Greg snorted as John giggled at himself, but groaned again as his lover's breath washed over his bollocks. "But I believe I have just the thing to bring that swelling down..." Then a soft sigh as just the very tip of John's tongue danced over just the very tip of Greg's cock, _flick, flick,_ _flicker-flick_ , doing absolutely sodding nothing to ease the persistent ache deep in his bollocks. Greg's entire body tensed again as he once more tried to hold in his cries of pleasure, his needy begging, but as John chuckled quietly and started to nibble all along his length, he found he simply could not. So he let it go, all of it, his knees bending slightly as the stiff tension in his neck leached away, as his head fell forward and his fingers relaxed their hold on his lover's tawny hair. And of course it was at that moment that John eagerly swallowed him down completely, his nose bumping against Greg's groin and then pushing in as he took him in as deep as he bloody well could.

After that, after the muscles of John's throat had contracted around the head of his cock in a delightful spasm, well, Greg lost quite a bit of his hitherto control, as weak as it had been up to this moment. His mouth dropped open and he let everything come tumbling out, all of the pants and all of the moans and all of the pleas and all of the promises. He let it all out, and John encouraged him wordlessly, with soft presses of teeth and hard pushes of his tongue, with his own approving hums and muffled moans of pleasure. Greg thrashed under his doctor's careful ministrations, his impending release swirling deep within his belly and spiralling up into his chest. John must have sensed that he was too near, too close for his teasing to be effective any longer. One small hand worked its way in between his thighs, and Greg spread his legs as best he could without simply falling over, and with one sharp tug on his tight bollocks, with one solid rub on his perineum, he came hard with a loud shout and extensive groan of relief.

He was only dimly aware of John milking him with his tongue, sucking hard to ensure that not a drop was left as he swallowed around him. It was quite a few moments before he was able to gather himself, long after the twitches and spasms had stopped, after the bright streaks that had flashed under his dark eyelids had faded away to the occasional faint throb of insubstantial light. He came down with another long moan, and it was only then that he realised that John was still kneeling at his feet, barely aware of a vague sense of motion that indicated that his lover had taken himself in hand. He frowned slightly and tugged on his hair gently. " _Up_. Up here, Doctor Watson. C'mon."

John groaned, but allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, let Greg tilt his head up to seek out his mouth for a blind but heated kiss. With a wicked grin, the silver-haired man reached down and shoved his hand away, swiftly insinuating one of his thighs in between John's legs, grinding up hard. John stifled his own cry into Greg's chest, his left hand coming up to clutch at his shoulder as he took the wordless invitation. Greg hummed as John's tight little body started rocking into him, as he simply rubbed his hard cock up against him mindlessly, his breath coming in short, harsh gasps. He flexed his leg as best he could, giving John an extra little incentive, which seemed to be very much appreciated, if the noises he was making and the subtle increase of his pace was anything to go by. "Fuck yes, you dirty little beast. Rub off on me, just like you need." John whined, his hand clutching tighter to his shoulder and Greg almost felt like he was trying to climb him, so he slumped down just a bit more and pushed up with his knee just a bit higher. Then he snaked his arm around John's waist and down, his fingers finding the cleft of his arse with the well-honed accuracy of muscle memory. He slid his middle finger between and then crooked it slightly, smiling as he felt the moist warmth that was still lingering from his session with the toy earlier.

John made an indistinct noise of pleasure, and Greg took that as assent and approval all in one, neatly sliding that finger in as far as it would go. And apparently, that was exactly what his lover needed, because it only took a few more hard thrusts against his leg and onto his finger before he was cursing and shaking, and Greg cautiously opened his eyes, blinking away the sudden influx of light as he looked down into John's absolutely lovely and utterly debauched face, and -  _oh_. Oh, that look as his own slate-blue eyes went wide and that gorgeous shade of pink washed over him, and his hand grabbed at him so hard that Greg was sure that he'd have a stark reminder of this moment branded on his shoulder for a good week at least. Then John threw his head back with his own cry of relief as his body went utterly stiff for just a moment, and as the warmth of his release flooded Greg's thigh, he began to twitch and shiver himself to pieces.  

Greg held himself still as John continued to rock into him languidly, pressing his face deep into his chest until all of his shaking and shuddering had stopped. Then he turned his face and took in a great breath, relying on his lover to keep them both on their feet. When everybody's heartbeats had calmed sufficiently, John wiggled his bum slightly, and Greg carefully withdrew his hand. John took a small half-step back and looked down, running his fingers through the mess that he had left on Greg's leg.

He smiled a little bashfully, and Greg just had to laugh at the look on his face. "Was it as good as you imagined, then?"

"Better." John abruptly pulled him down for a hard kiss. "I love you, you know that, right?"

"Ditto, Doctor Watson."

John rolled his eyes and turned toward the shower once again, picking up the flannel and giving Greg's thigh a swift if thorough wipe-down. He shivered slightly and then took the cloth from his lover's hand and picked up the soap as John fiddled with the tap. It was John's turn to get washed up, and Greg made sure that it was quick but efficient, as both of them were swaying a little dangerously at this point. They dried off as best they could with their eyes threatening to drop shut, and then happily joined Sherlock in bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first 'family night' for our boys...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now Mycroft re-enters the picture. I know that some of you have been anticipating this, so I hope that it satisfies. Mostly, it's just going to be our boys figuring out how the whole arrangement will work for them, and there may be a few more chapters to go, but I should be coming up on part 5 soon-ish.
> 
> I do realise that the muse has been stuck on this bit and part 2 for quite a while, I'm hoping to knock her out of that space for a bit so I can continue to work through to John's b-day in part 5. (Soooo complicated! *sigh*)
> 
> Anyhoo - please do comment, it keeps me going.
> 
> Kisses, my lovelies!

Greg woke to a faint rustling sound coming from the direction of the kitchen. He froze for a moment, his protective instincts jangling at him to leap up and disable the intruder before any harm could come to him or his. He slowly forced his body to relax, willing his heart to cease beating in his ears so he could actually listen and hopefully not overreact.

Once he blinked the sleep out of his eyes and noted the darkness of the room, he swiftly realised that it was undoubtedly Mycroft, as it was near the hour that he said he would arrive. There was an indistinct murmur, a subtle click of a tongue that further indicated that it was his lover, and that he was most likely clearing up the mess that John and Sherlock had left behind earlier, the mess that Greg had yet to enjoy, as his newly-awakened stomach was beginning to demonstrate to him quite vocally.

Greg clutched at it as he wriggled backwards off the bed, gently extracting his arm from around Sherlock's waist. John began to stir slightly, one eye cracking open and then fluttering shut again as he grumbled wordlessly. Greg grinned as he got his feet underneath him and stood with a long, satisfying stretch. He looked down at his lovers, John's smaller frame nearly lost within Sherlock's tender but firm grip, long arms and legs caged around him securely. The younger man frowned in his sleep as his captive wriggled, but he obligingly loosened his hold as John started to blink himself back into awareness.

Greg shook his head and headed for the kitchen, deliberately neglecting to fetch a pair of pants along the way. Why not give his pet a little visual treat before a bit of family togetherness? He paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of the elder Holmes tidying up the kitchen in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves, the latter rolled up to just under his elbows. He couldn't explain just what that particular profile did for him, but it was a sight that Greg would never tire of, the delicate but strong wrists, the glorious line of freckles running along the elegant forearms. And the waistcoat, oh, the way it hugged his torso and tucked in around his waist, elongating that already absurdly long body and turning Greg's thoughts toward the distinctly naughty.

Mycroft turned with raised eyebrows at the sound of Greg's happy sigh, and instantly went a delightful shade of pink when he took in his state of undress. They drifted toward one another, Greg tilting his head inquisitively as he reached out to finger the knot in Mycroft's tie, still imperfect and even slightly askew, just as he had left it for him that morning, nearly ten hours past.

Mycroft smiled crookedly and shrugged idly. "It was a reminder of you throughout the day, something that I'm afraid I needed rather often."

Greg let his hand slide up around the left side of his pet's neck, nestling his palm against the bandage that he knew was taped up just under his shirt-collar. He pressed down firmly as he brought him in for a kiss, humming contentedly as Mycroft seemed to melt into him. The red-haired man gasped as Greg massaged the spot rhythmically, his knees wobbling as he tucked his face into his lover's neck.

"And this? Did it remind you too?"

Mycroft shuddered faintly, his voice vaguely muffled as he burrowed into Greg's skin. "Oh _yes_ , my love. Anthea asked me several times if I was all right, if perhaps I required the services of the company massage therapist to help relieve me of my stiff neck."

Greg growled quietly at the thought of a stranger touching his pet, clutching him closer and tighter before shaking himself out of his completely unnecessary possessive fugue. "You have a masseuse on staff?"

Mycroft hummed with amusement and more than a bit of approval at his small show of jealousy. "Naturally. Not that I have ever used her services."

"Oh, no, pet. The privilege of laying hands on a Holmes is not so easily won, is it?"

Mycroft smirked as he stood straight. "You seem to have won it quite handily. And not just one Holmes, Gregory. You are the only man that has ever been able to lay claim to both of us." His cool grey eyes abruptly flickered to something over Greg's shoulder, and he flushed an even more becoming shade of pink.

Greg turned, and chuckled quietly when he caught sight of John's bare backside retreating into the bedroom, obviously heading back after a visit to the loo. The smaller man ruffled at his tawny hair with one hand as he scratched at his belly with the other, turning and gracing them both with a saucy wink as he disappeared into the darkness within. Mycroft's eyes dropped bashfully as Greg turned back to him with one eyebrow quirked in amusement.

"Get a good look, pet?"

"Gregory, I..."

"No need, silly thing. I'm sure he did it on purpose. Still, I suppose I should follow his example, and go throw something on."

Mycroft smirked as he stepped back, looking over his lover's nude form with a sweeping, appreciative gaze. "You are terribly distracting right now. Might make for awkward film viewing a bit later." Greg grinned and started to turn, but had to stop and clutch at his stomach as it once again growled at him fiercely. " _Hm_. Let me guess." Mycroft tapped at his chin before gesturing grandly at the takeaway cartons that had been gathered in the centre of the table. "The festivities began this evening before you were able to partake of this lovely repast."  
   
Greg winced slightly as his belly spoke up once again. "Yeah. Not even a nibble." He paused and grinned wickedly. "Well, of food, anyway..."  
   
Mycroft blushed again before shaking his head and then attempting to shoo him away. "Get on with you. I'll start reheating some of this mess."  
   
His lover stared at him briefly before rushing back to press a grateful kiss to his lips. Greg pulled Mycroft down to nibble on his ear and whisper, "You're my favourite, you know."  
   
Mycroft simply giggled. "For now, perhaps." He reached around to give Greg a solid pinch on the behind and then physically pushed him away. "Go cover yourself, you horrible incubus." Greg winked and sauntered away with an exaggerated sway to his hips, refusing to look back even as his pet let out an indiscriminate noise of pure desire. _"Unf."_  
   
John was sitting at the foot of the bed, still completely starkers and blinking somewhat sleepily as Greg wandered back into the room. He went to the bureau and started digging around for his comfiest pyjama bottoms, completely forgoing pants as he slipped them over his hips. He dropped a kiss on the top of John's head before donning a snug-fitting vest, smiling as his lover eyed him up and down briefly before slowly blinking again. "You can go back to sleep, love. We were just going to watch a film anyhow."  
   
 _"Mm."_ The smaller man looked longingly at the empty space on either side of their mutual lover, his mouth twisting fondly as Sherlock twitched and mumbled in his sleep. "Hungry."  
   
"Ah. Well, Myc is heating up the leftovers. C'mon, I'll brew us up some tea, and once you get some food in your belly, maybe you'll be human enough to join us." Greg ran his fingers through John's hair, humming as he shivered under his touch. "Only if you want to, of course."  
   
John blinked again and gently shoved him out of the way, standing with a groan and beginning to dig through his own bureau drawer. "Our first 'family night', hm?" Greg blushed as he twisted his fingers together, and John turned to him with a soft smile. "No, don't be nervous, love. It's good. It'll be good for Myc, and good for you. So much better than having you two locked away upstairs for hours on end." He pulled out clothing and started to dress.  
   
Greg frowned slightly. "Has that bothered you? You should have told me, John." He gestured at Sherlock vaguely. "For both of you - if you need me, you just have to say so."  
   
"It's not that, not really." John slipped his own t-shirt on and tightened the drawstring on his bottoms. "You do make time when we need it, I don't feel neglected. Not at all." He paused, seeming to search for the right words. "It was more the idea of you two being separate. I understand the alone time bit, of course. Can't exactly have you two rutting on the sitting room floor..." He grinned as Greg choked back a sharp laugh. "But before, when it was Myc just coming and going and hardly saying a word to us, well - to me, since Sherlock was usually locked up in his lab... I just want him to feel part of something, not apart from it. So this is a step in the right direction, y'know?" He raked his fingers through his hair and blew out a breath. "Am I making any sense here? I still feel like my head is swimming with stupid-making sex hormones, for fuck's sake."  
   
"Pfft!" Greg pulled him in close, pressing his lips to his temple. "John, my dearest love, you are making perfect sense. And I adore you for it." He gave him a gentle squeeze. "And I'm sure Mycroft will too. I think - well, I think you're right. He needs this, the stability that this new arrangement will provide." Greg nodded toward the motionless lump currently curled up in the middle of their shared bed. "Sherlock too. As much as they try to be all cold and aloof - they need to know that they are a part of a family, as odd as it may be. I think that we just might be able to patch up the cracks in their relationship, get them back to where they need to be."  
   
"That's exactly what I'm hoping for. It might not be easy, but I think it will be worth it in the end. For all of us." John stepped back and took Greg's hand, leading him out of the bedroom and back toward the kitchen. "Food. Go on and get yourself situated on the sofa, I'll make the tea. You always brew it too strong."  
   
"No such thing, love."  
   
John threw a mildly aggravated glance over his shoulder. "We aren't at the Yard, Greg. We don't need tea that will stand up all on its own and that you could carve with a bloody knife." He released him as they entered the small kitchen, eyeing the mugs that had already been laid out with approval. The kettle clicked off just as they came in, and Mycroft turned with a plate in hand, a messy pile of chow mein steaming on its surface and a fork standing up in the middle. Greg groaned appreciatively and snatched it away from him without a word, scuttling off in the direction of the sitting room. John took hold of Mycroft's arm as he turned back, drawing him down for a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, sweetheart."  
   
Mycroft blushed as John turned back to preparing the tea. "You are most welcome, John." He gestured at the cartons. "Which is your choice?"  
   
John smirked slightly. "As if I don't know that you've already deduced it, you silly thing." Mycroft returned his grin as he reached for the carton of almond chicken. "Might as well heat it all up, except for Sherlock's kung pao. He's still out like a light, poor thing."  
   
The red-haired man twitched awkwardly before clearing his throat. "A rather eventful evening, was it?" John hummed noncommittally with a sharp grin and reached out to pinch his bum before gathering his and Greg's mugs and breezing out of the kitchen. Mycroft shuddered and fought to swallow his heart, which had leapt up into his throat at John's brief but all-too-wicked touch. He smiled to himself as he waited for the rest of the food to heat, sipping at his tea, which was perfect as always.  
   
After tucking Sherlock's carton into the fridge for later, he carried the last plate out into the sitting room, placing it in the middle of the coffee table. Mycroft tilted his head as he took in the manner in which Greg and John had chosen to arrange themselves on the sofa, one on either end, the space in between empty. He blushed as he took in the implication, and instead started to go to his knees at Gregory's side.  
   
"Pet, don't be silly. There's plenty of space for you here." Greg patted the cushion perfunctorily.  
   
Mycroft bit his lip as he shook his head, his eyes dropping to the floor as John studied him intently. "I - I don't think so, Gregory. I appreciate your kind offer, but this is where I'd like to sit."  
   
Greg frowned mightily and opened his mouth, but John abruptly scooted over the distance between them, planting his bum quite firmly into the space that they had intended for Mycroft to occupy. "No, Greg. However he's comfortable is fine. Right?" He reached over and squeezed his lover's knee. "It's fine."  
   
Greg looked dubious, but consented with a curt nod. "I still don't want to see you sitting on the floor in those lovely trousers of yours, pet. I don't suppose you brought something more comfortable to wear?"  
   
"My clothing is perfectly comfortable as it is, Gregory."  
   
Mycroft blanched slightly at the look that Greg gave him, and watched with befuddlement as he put his half-empty plate down and then rose, holding out his hand. He took it, and glanced over his shoulder as he was hauled in the direction of the bedroom. John shrugged at him and winked, eagerly digging into his own leftovers as they disappeared down the hall. Mycroft hesitated in the doorway, his eyes skittering over the unmoving figure in the middle of the bed as Greg stomped over to the wardrobe and started to rifle through the bottom drawer. With an impatient huff, he reached out and turned on a small lamp, humming with approval as it illuminated the room slightly. He commenced his digging, seeming to have completely forgotten about Mycroft for the moment.  
   
Sherlock groaned at the introduction of the light and instantly flopped over on his stomach, burying his head under a pillow as he spread his arms and legs out to envelop nearly the entirety of the mattress. Mycroft stifled a small giggle even as his heartbeat increased, biting his lip as he allowed himself a lingering look. Whereas his own skin was absolutely festooned with horrible ginger spots, his little brother only sported a few delightful and quite intriguing beauty marks, dark moles sporadically peppered over his alabaster flesh. He followed the curve and dip of his spine with his eyes, his cheeks heating abominably as he found himself staring at the sacral region of his brother's backside, that lovely inverted arch. He was also held quite fast by the sight of the rather impressive swell of his buttocks, only just concealed by the thinnest of coverings, a single sheet that was even now threatening to slip lower as Sherlock squirmed against the mattress.   
   
Mycroft jumped and nearly squeaked out of pure mortification as Gregory touched his arm, turning rapidly and tucking his face into his lover's neck to hide his embarrassment. Greg only chuckled low, rubbing his back soothingly. "Shh, pet. It's all right." Mycroft quivered slightly and shook his head, the only denial that he could think to display in the moment. "It's just like appreciating a fine work of art, in't it?" Greg rocked him quietly. "That's all. And it's even lovelier when he's let his guard down, yeah?" He chuckled again. "Quiet and still. You might even mistake him for innocent, if you could only see his face..."  
   
Mycroft allowed himself a small smile as he pulled himself straight, his cheeks still burning. "It has been a while since he has allowed me to see him in such a vulnerable state, but yes. He does look completely guileless when he allows himself to sleep." He glanced aside at the bed again. "Like an angel."  
   
Greg caressed and kissed him gently, his eyes going a little misty. "Oh, pet..." He shook it off before backing away and brandishing the result of his rummaging. "Old track suit that never quite fit. Always a bit long in the limbs and a bit tight around the old tum for my comfort. Thought it might work for you, and if it does, then we can keep it upstairs for when you're just hanging about. Should probably think about keeping a couple of changes of clothing about and bringing in some of your preferred toiletries too."  
   
Mycroft smiled as he started to work the buttons on his waistcoat open, casting one more look at the bed to make sure that his brother was still insensate and hopefully not sneaking peeks of his own. "I quite agree."  
   
"In fact, I'm sure that John wants to get all of that ironed out tonight, so be quick, hm?" Greg eyed him up and down, licking his lips with anticipation. Mycroft quirked an eyebrow and stripped himself out of his shirt and trousers efficiently, shaking his head as his lover made a little moue of disappointment when he declined to discard his underclothes. In an odd reversal of roles that made Mycroft's head swim slightly, Gregory hung his clothing up for him and then turned off the light once the track suit had been donned. It fit him rather well, actually, and he found that the dark navy tone suited his colouring satisfactorily.  
   
He tugged on the sleeves as he smiled at his lover. "Comfy. Thank you, Gregory."  
   
" _Mm_ , welcome, pet." Greg's dark eyes glimmered in the half-light as he pulled him in close. "I like you in my clothes." He drew Mycroft down for a slow and sultry kiss.  
   
"Not as well as when I'm not wearing anything at all, I wager."  
   
Greg moaned against his lips and then started shuffling him backward out of the bedroom. "None of that, now. It's family night, remember?"  
   
"I sincerely doubt that John would mind if we were to take a little time to ourselves." Mycroft wriggled against Greg's hardening cock invitingly. "From what I'm gauging at the moment, it would surely only be a few minutes or so."  
   
"Oh, ta for that. Are you insinuating that I'm quick-fire or something?" Greg continued to manoeuvre his captive down the hallway and back toward the sitting room, his arms quite tight around him.   
   
Mycroft smiled as he shuffled backward, slow and wicked. "Only when I want you to be..."  
   
Greg's lips twisted as he shrugged. "True. You do have quite the cadre of techniques in your arsenal, don't you?"  
   
Mycroft giggled and then stiffened as John reached out from his perch on the sofa to tweak his bum rather soundly. "All right, you two. Stop being all cutesy n'shit. Or at least share some of it with me." Mycroft turned in Greg's clasp and bent down, quite deliberately planting his bum hard against his groin. John tipped his face up to meet his lips, and they giggled into each other's mouths as their mutual lover moaned and shifted his grip to Mycroft's hips, pulling him in even tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The negotiations...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we have something that may not be entirely necessary to the story from some people's perspective, but is very important to the concept of a poly arrangement. Since the boys are acknowledging the situation that they are currently embroiled in, I thought that it was significant enough to include. 
> 
> I may have another posting this week, but I am unsure at this point, and I honestly have no idea which portion of the saga it may be in. The muse is a bit scatter-brained thus far...
> 
> Love you all, please do let me know how I'm doing!

John ran his fingers through soft red hair as Mycroft's breath trembled out over his chin and throat, his cool grey eyes fluttering in ecstasy as Greg ground his cock into his pet's arse. "Gregory, that's enough. We have things to discuss, yes?"

" _Nghk._ Not my fault, John. Provoking me."

"You're supposed to be the one in control, remember? Just step away and breathe." John frowned as Greg's fingers flexed around Mycroft's hips, slipping under the waistband of his borrowed track bottoms. "You're in control, Gregory. Act like it, for _fuck's_ sake!" The last bit was essentially barked out, and both Greg and Mycroft froze, the latter shrinking away in fear as the former stepped back somewhat shamefully. John once more reached out to pet Mycroft's hair, encouraging him to his knees in front of the sofa. "Sorry, sweetheart. Not your fault, please don't look so scared, okay?"

He continued to pet and soothe until Mycroft slumped down, his cheek dropping onto John's thigh. "That's it." John looked up at Greg, who was watching their tender display with interest and more than a bit of jealousy. "I didn't mean to shout, but you two..." He shook his head as Mycroft shuffled just a bit closer on his knees. "You get carried away so easily - you forget yourselves. I need you both to have clear heads right now."

"Yes, John." Mycroft tucked his hands into his lap as he straightened, glancing back at Greg as he fidgeted uneasily. "You are quite correct. I do apologise."

"No need." John turned a stern eye on his silver-haired lover before waving him forward and patting the sofa at his right side. "Come sit down, and finish your supper. Myc and I are going to work out some details, and you can listen while you eat." Greg sighed and started to suck down his noodles with a little pout on his face, but it lightened considerably as his belly was slowly filled.  
   
John nodded decisively. "All right. We've already established that you'll be staying Saturday night and through most of Sunday, correct?"

Mycroft nodded. "Work permitting, of course."

"Yes, that's granted. Is there a particular weekday that would work the best for you?"

"I find that the middle of the week is generally less hectic..."

"Wednesdays, then." John turned slightly and patted Greg's thigh. "How does that sound to you?" Greg nodded with a little shrug, a wordless agreement as he hoovered up the last of his meal. "All right." John sighed. "This may seem a bit harsh, but I think that once the schedule has been set up, we should stick to it. That means if you are unable to stay on one of your usual nights, you can't just switch it to another day of the week. Of course, you can still visit if you're able. I don't really want Greg to go without the pleasure of your company or anything like that."

Mycroft blushed. "No, that's perfectly reasonable, John. I would not wish to take more than my fair share."  
   
John grinned at him. "Well, I don't know about _that_. I'm sure you'd love to have him all to yourself, but you know that isn't going to happen."

Mycroft blinked at him seriously before tentatively reaching out to place his hand on John's knee. The smaller man instantly placed his hand atop his, squeezing gently. Mycroft swallowed uneasily and seemed to gather his courage as he tilted his head. "I will not deny that such a scenario has crossed my mind many times. I am ashamed to admit that it is not the thought of causing either you or Sherlock pain that turns my head away from the concept, but rather the fact that my life would be all the more richer with all of you in it." He smiled crookedly. "I am simply too selfish to try to keep Gregory to myself, because I would rather keep you all."

"Oh, sweetheart..." John suddenly shifted on the sofa so that Mycroft was nestled in between his legs, pulling him up into a fierce embrace. He rocked him gently as Mycroft tucked his face into his neck. "That isn't selfish at all. That's family, love, and that's what we want for you as well. When you're here, you can just let it all go. We'll take care of you."

"Promise?" Mycroft's voice was so hesitant, so child-like in its softness and sweetness that Greg actually clutched at his chest as his heart jumped. John turned misty blue eyes on him and he scooted closer to envelop them both in his arms.

"We promise, pet. Absolutely." Greg tried to clear his throat, but the lump that had caused his voice to crack on the last word simply refused to budge.

John pressed his lips to the top of Mycroft's head and mumbled, "Promise promise promise," over and over again until the eldest Holmes started to giggle into his chest rather adorably.

Greg held tight to the both of them for a long while, waiting to release them until it seemed that everyone had regained their sensibilities. Mycroft smiled shakily as he fell back into his resting position, watching with fond amusement as John tried to surreptitiously wipe his eyes with his vest. Greg simply pulled his tawny head into his chest and wrapped his arm around his shoulder.

John sighed as Greg caressed him. "That's it, love." He chuckled briefly as he pressed his lips to his lover's head. "I think you've been wanting this just as much as my pet has. One big fucking weird family, yeah?"

The smaller man nodded. "I don't think I realised quite the extent to which I wanted it, but yes, I believe so." He chuckled slightly. "What would we even call ourselves? The Lestrade-Watson-Holmes coalition? Maybe an alphabetical classification would work best... The Holmes-Lestrade-Watsons. Ye gods."

Greg sat back and seemed to consider. "Well, it is the Holmes name that seems to carry the most weight."

"If you'll forgive my interruption, Gregory... That name has never done much for either me or Sherlock. It may have perked up a few ears here and there, but anything that I have achieved in my life was based entirely on my own merit. Speaking honestly, I would much rather be a Lestrade than a Holmes." Mycroft smiled again as he blushed. "Or whatever horrid mish-mash you two happen to concoct."

Greg blinked at him wordlessly as John reached out once more to capture Mycroft's hand. "Me too, sweetheart."

"John..."

"Greg, it's not like either of us hasn't thought about it. Hell, I was thinking about it before I ever even told you that I loved you. I can look back on it now and laugh a little, because they were rather absurd fantasies. Tiny cottages, white fences - fairy-tale shite. I felt like such an utter schoolboy whenever one of them would pop up in my head, but I'd always let it play out. We would be dancing in a tiny back garden and we would laugh and there would be matching rings on our left hands, and even though we would be happy, there was always something missing."

John blew out a quiet breath as Greg squeezed him gently. "Some _one_ missing, perhaps?"

"Yeah. But then Sherlock accepted us as we were, together. I dreamt that first night, when we were all tucked up together in Sherlock's bed. Dreamt about all of us in that stupid fairy-tale cottage, but there was still something - off. I couldn't explain it, and frankly, it was starting to drive me a little mad." He smiled at Mycroft as he nudged a foot against his thigh. "But then this great galoot came in and basically threw himself at your feet, and it just clicked. It all came together in my head and it fit so perfectly." John glanced up at Greg's face. "I think that was why I was able to accept it so easily, right from the beginning. Some part of me was waiting for it to happen, I think."

"Sherlock too, maybe. Neither of you seemed to be as surprised as I was."

Mycroft smiled faintly. "No. My brother has always known that I wanted you, Gregory. That I loved you, even if it was from afar. I do believe that he had been expecting me to come to you not long after you and he admitted your feelings for one another. I simply wanted to give you all time to establish yourselves before I butted in rather rudely."

John laughed. "You aren't nearly as implacable as you pretend to be, sweetheart. There was always a certain look in your eye whenever you just 'happened' to stop by, either here or on one of Greg's crime scenes. I think that's what I picked up on, even if it wasn't entirely consciously."

"You are an intuitive thinker, John - especially when it comes to emotions. I do believe that is why you work together with Sherlock so well. His methods are much more logical, and although he can deduce the emotional motivations behind a crime, he does not always comprehend them. You provide a conduit - he sees those emotions through you, and you help him to understand. You are an invaluable asset to my little brother, Doctor Watson. I could see that from the very beginning of your association."

" _Pfft_. Is that why you had me spirited away to that ruddy freezing-arse warehouse?"

Mycroft smiled slyly. "Just a bit of reverse psychology, my dear. Something that I'm afraid you fell for rather satisfactorily. I knew that if I attempted to warn you off from my insane little brother, that you would instead cement yourself quite firmly to Sherlock's side."

Greg chuckled. "You can be a rather stubborn arse at times, my love."

John nudged Mycroft's leg a bit harder, but it was accompanied by a crooked grin. "Little shit."

"Indeed." The men on the sofa both shook their heads as Mycroft winked at them and blushed suddenly. "And if I may steer the topic of conversation back to the intriguing possibility of a merging of names..."

"No, pet." Greg held up his hand in a halting gesture. "Not right now. First of all, something of that nature should not be discussed without Sherlock present. Second of all, I am so not ready to go there." Mycroft dropped his eyes to the floor as John squirmed slightly. "I'm not saying that it couldn't ever happen, just that I need time. And it's not like it would be official anyway. I can't exactly marry all three of you, now can I?"

Mycroft shook his head. "No, this is true. There are certain papers that can be drawn up, however. Documents to secure familial rights in case of accident or illness, that sort of thing. Even if we do not all take on your name, we should think about protecting ourselves legally."

John frowned. "You can do that for a multiple partner situation?"

"Ah, well... Let's just say that it isn't something widely available to the general population."

"But you can make it happen for us."

"I must confess, Gregory, that it would be not only be my privilege, but also my honour, to flout my position of power in order to do so."

John glanced up at Greg and nodded curtly. "All right. Make it happen, pet. Not that I really think anyone would dare to try to stop you from visiting any of us in hospital if it came down to that."

Mycroft's eyes gleamed. "No. But the same could not be said of John or Sherlock, if I were unavailable to argue on their behalf." He smiled faintly as John stiffened with a quiet growl. "I'm sure that it would be quite a ferocious struggle, Captain Watson, but I assure you, they would be quite capable of keeping you contained if they felt it necessary."

John cleared his throat and forced himself to relax. "Enough talking about potential disasters and all that. I have no idea how we went from working out a basic sleepover schedule to the complexity of possibly changing surnames and poly domestic partnership papers. Although I agree on the latter, and the sooner the better. We all do tend to take our lives into our hands on a fairly regular basis."

"I'll have Anthea begin the process tomorrow morning."

Greg rubbed John's thigh. "Back to business, then?"

John turned his cheek up to accept Greg's soft kiss, hesitating briefly as he turned his attention back to Mycroft. "Actually, I've been thinking... Since you two are a little more established now, I was hoping to get some time back."

Mycroft smiled gently. "You wish to reinstate your 'pub nights'?"

Both Greg and John blinked at him in silence for such a long time that Mycroft started to twitch slightly. Finally, John giggled as Greg let out a gust of air. "I knew it. I knew all those trips were bogus. I just _knew_ that there was some kind of ulterior motive. You wanted us to get together, me and Greg."

"My plan was perhaps a tad convoluted, but yes. I did what I could to ensure that you both had time to yourselves, free from whatever drama tends to pursue my little brother."

"How do you even fabricate a Latvian beheading, for God's sake?"

Mycroft smiled smugly. "I have my methods, John, and I am terribly afraid that I cannot share them with anyone. The security of the realm must always take precedence."

Both John and Greg chuckled. "You can tell us, but then you'd have to kill us, eh, pet?"

"Sherlock would undoubtedly be most put out if I had to resort to such drastic measures."

"As would we!" John nudged him again, idly running his foot along Mycroft's thigh. "And really, I was just hoping to get Fridays back. You can still visit on Tuesday, if you're able."

Mycroft squirmed slightly from his perch on the floor, his fingers twitching gently with an obvious desire to reach out and touch. He kept himself contained, though, merely nodding. "So, to reiterate... I am free to visit any night but Friday. I can stay over Wednesday night as well as Saturday, until whatsoever time I choose to leave on Sundays. All of this is entirely dependent on my work schedule, as per usual. No switching sleepover nights if one happens to be missed, for whatever reason. I will, of course, be keeping Gregory informed if there is some sort of delay, or if I am unable to visit, also per usual."

John nodded decisively. "Yes, that's perfect. We will also let you know if we have a case in the works, or something else that might interfere with one of your regular visits. Not that you aren't completely aware of those situations when they happen to come up anyway..."

Mycroft quirked one corner of his mouth as Greg chuckled. "All right, pet. One more bit of business, and then maybe we can finally get the film started." His red-haired lover squirmed a little under his intense scrutiny, but ducked his head in a swift nod. "I know this might be a bit uncomfortable for you, but we need you to lay your boundaries out for us. I realise that you have very few objections to playing with John, but the same cannot be said of Sherlock, obviously."

Mycroft cleared his throat and swallowed uneasily. "You are quite correct, Gregory. I would have no objection to playing with John, and no restrictions on that play. He could do with me as he wished, as long as it was within your parameters. I am wholly yours, Gregory, and you may share me out as you like." A brief smile lit up his face as the two men on the sofa locked their arms around each other and moaned quietly. "That all hinges on Sherlock at the moment, however. I would need to know that he had given approval before anything were to happen between the three of us. He gave permission for me to watch this morning, and if that carries over to future encounters, then I would be more than happy to be at attendance while you both take your pleasure from one another. Ecstatic, even."

" _Jesus_ , pet."

Mycroft grinned as Greg damn near pulled John into his lap, grinding up against his thigh. "Indeed. The same could be said of John. If he wishes to watch while you use me, my love, he would be most welcome. And if he were to have to put on a little show of his own by taking matters into his own hands, well, so much the better... " He blushed at John's low growl and then blinked rapidly, obviously lost in thought. "Sherlock... I think that if he were involved, watching would be acceptable to me, on either end. I would like for whichever one of us is watching to remain fully clothed and at a respectable distance, however. I may be willing to stretch those boundaries at some point, but for right now, I think that is the very least that I would need in order to feel comfortable."

"You are free to change your mind at any time, pet. If having Sherlock in the room proves too much for you, simply tell us so. If you happen to be the one watching, then you can just walk away, yeah? Don't feel that you have to stick around just because of me." Greg smiled as Mycroft twisted his fingers together and nodded. "John? How about you, my love? Anything you feel you need to get off your chest?"

John shifted away from him slightly, deliberately placing both of his feet on the top of Mycroft's knees. "No, I'm amenable to everything that your pet has laid out. Like he said, it all depends on Sherlock at the moment. I must say, I am very much looking forward to the day that he acquiesces." He slowly ran his feet up Mycroft's legs, the muscles visibly jumping under the dark navy fabric that was pulled taut over his thighs. "He will, I have no doubt about that. It's just a matter of time, and when he does... Oh. Oh, sweetheart, you and I are going to have so _much_ fun."

_"Nghk."_ Greg swallowed his own involuntary sound of desire as Mycroft's mouth twisted and his eyes went wide and helpless.

John dug his toes in hard and dragged his feet back down, threatening to wriggle them in between and back up until Greg tugged at his arm. "Enough of that, you little devil. For now, I'm the only one that can torment him that way."

Both John and Mycroft shook themselves, and the red-haired man abruptly went to his feet, collecting dirty plates. John nodded his approval as he also stood, stretching slightly before gathering empty mugs. "I think we could all do with another cup, don't you think?"

"Perfect, my love. How about you, pet? Need any help with those dishes?"

"Not at all, Gregory. Won't take me but a few minutes. Perhaps you could queue up the film?"

"Will do. Unless you think you might require some supervision? I'm not sure I should leave you two alone together after that little display..."

Mycroft giggled as John rolled his eyes. "Unlike someone I could name, _Gregory_ , I am quite able to behave myself."  
   
"Mm." Greg grinned and watched as they both went into the kitchen before wandering over to the telly, slipping the disc for _The Princess Bride_ out of its sleeve and into the player. On the way back to the sofa, he snagged the cushion from John's armchair and tossed it down on the floor next to his seat. He still didn't entirely approve of his pet's choice to sit on the floor, but decided he wouldn't push it. He would simply make sure to make him as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.

Mycroft quirked a little smile of thanks at him upon seeing the cushion and John nodded with approval as they both came back in, bearing steaming mugs and a plate of biscuits. With his pet settled in next to his legs on his left and his love tucked up on his other side, Greg simply paused for a moment, closing his eyes and breathing in their scents, feeling the heat of both of them against his body. He let out a deeply satisfied sigh as he opened his eyes to find them both looking at him and smiling softly. He hit 'play' on the remote, and settled back with his tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)
> 
> I also wanted to add that I do have a tumblr. I don't think I'll be posting any teasers or anything like that, but I will be tossing out notifications, since it seems that AO3 hasn't been informing a few of my loyal readers. You can find me at 'bitemebat.tumblr.com' if you'd like.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock joins in for a bit of family togetherness...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we have the reintroduction of our lovely baby of the family, with a bit of Holmesian mind-reading and a minor strop about pirates...
> 
> Hee! Please do let me know if this is an acceptable offering, I feel as though the muse needs to be fed a bit.
> 
> I adore you all, you lovely things you!

They were only a few minutes into the film when Sherlock shuffled in, his curly hair sticking up wildly in all directions as he flopped down into his arm chair with a desultory air. He was thankfully clad in pyjamas and a dressing gown, but the latter was slipping off one shoulder as usual, with unconscious sensual grace. He stretched, making sure that his vest rose just enough to deliberately reveal the marks that Greg's earlier mauling had left behind; particularly the ones around his navel, and the matching set high on each hipbone. He slyly watched his brother's face as he flaunted the evidence of his tryst with Greg, eagerly anticipating the rush of jealousy, the flash of hurt that would no doubt follow Mycroft's deductions.

When the look came, however, it was not at all what Sherlock had expected. There was hurt, yes, but not due to the marks themselves. It was because of his need to show them off, his desire to see his brother in pain, because of him. The younger Holmes flinched slightly, shrinking back into himself as his brother's cool grey eyes clouded over with disappointment.

_'Brother mine, was that really necessary? You know me. You know that I would not begrudge Gregory time spent with any additional lovers, and especially not with you. I am immeasurably happy that you have found two men so well-suited to care for you, and positively ecstatic that you are willing to share at least one of them with me. Why is it that you are trying to make me jealous, when you must have known that you would fail?'_

Sherlock curled further into himself, frowning slightly. _'I do not know, brother dear. I - I didn't follow my thought processes to the logical conclusion, obviously. It was a foolish need to show off, perhaps. Originally, it was Greg's idea and I'm afraid I latched on to it rather shamefully.'_ He sighed almost imperceptibly. _'Will I ever be anything but your stupid baby brother?'_

Mycroft nearly laughed, letting his incredulous eyebrows stand in for his mirth instead. _'I sincerely hope not, little one.'_ He tilted his head slightly. _'Perhaps Gregory's inner beast finds something appealing in the idea of us fighting over him, but I sincerely doubt that he would enjoy the consequences of such a battle if it were to actually occur. I am very happy to see that you had a most satisfactory evening.'_ Sherlock stretched his neck a little proudly, smiling as Mycroft nodded in approval, his cheeks pinking rather nicely. _'Oh yes. He does know just how to place the most beautiful marks, doesn't he?'_ His fingers went to the bandage on the left side of his own neck. _'Just like mine. But that was the whole point, wasn't it?'_ Sherlock bit his lip. _'We both belong to him now, brother dear. How lovely it is that Gregory finally has a matching set of Holmeses.'_

Sherlock giggled and nodded, abruptly taking notice of Greg and John propped up against each other on the sofa, their heads swivelling in unison as they tried to follow the brothers' silent back-and-forth.  
   
The younger man tucked his knees up to his chest and blushed as he nodded at the telly. "What's this nonsense, then?" His voice was still slurred with sleep, and he raked his long fingers through his hair in a vain attempt to tame it.

Greg shook the stupid grin off his face. "Princess Bride." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fencing, fighting, true love. Torture and marriage."

"One and the same." He started to push himself to his feet. "Sounds perfectly fatuous."

"Pirates, brother mine."

He flopped back down abruptly. "Although if you're all watching, I suppose I could endure."

_"Pfft!"_ Sherlock shot a narrow-eyed glare at his silver-haired lover, who simply grinned at him until he gave him a small smile in return.

"You need to eat something, love. I'll re-heat your food from earlier, all right?"

"No, John, I'll get it. I've seen this film many times before - you shouldn't miss out." Mycroft rose gracefully to his feet and retreated into the kitchen. When he returned a few minutes later with his brother's plate, he noted that John had been able to coax him into the empty seat on the sofa.

He passed over the plate and once more settled onto the cushion on the floor, humming with satisfaction as Gregory dropped his hand on his shoulder, his fingers tickling along the edge of the bandage. Mycroft shuddered and tilted his head, giving his lover access to do whatever he wished. He bit back on a low moan as those divine fingers pushed and prodded and massaged, in constant motion throughout the entirety of the film. He dropped his cheek onto Gregory's knee and wrapped his arm around his lower leg, just holding on as his body went completely limp under his lover's strong touch.  
   
John was no doubt aware of Gregory's actions, as Mycroft heard indistinct noises of disapproval from his direction, but he didn't interfere, and his lover did not relinquish his hold on him, not until the credits were rolling across the screen. He shook himself back to awareness as his brother blew a rather unbecoming raspberry in his direction.  
   
"You misled me, brother. There were no pirates to speak of at all!"  
   
Mycroft blinked rapidly, shifting on his cushion to face his accuser. "The Dread Pirate Roberts, my forgetful little sibling."  
   
"He wasn't a pirate! He was barely even a _thief_ , purloining that which had already been stolen by that pack of lack-a-wits."  
   
"Is not kidnapping a winsome wench one of the items that is highest on the list of approved pirating activities?"  
   
"Not unless it were to occur on the high seas! He was a fake, brother dear, and I demand retribution!"  
   
Mycroft raised one imperious eyebrow. "Oh? And what would you _demand_ of me, then? A lashing or two, perhaps?" Sherlock suddenly blushed utterly scarlet and bit his lip hard, nearly drawing blood. The elder Holmes tilted his head. "Surely you found some portion of the film at least mildly amusing. The torture, in particular. Don't think that any of us missed that completely inappropriate giggle of delight as poor Westley thrashed and screamed. And I could easily swear that another giggle or two escaped when Fezzik was suddenly engulfed in flames..."  
   
"Another disappointment. They didn't actually light the giant on fire, it was that cloak of his."  
   
"Oh, for God's _sake_." Greg harrumphed as John broke out into giggles. "Baby, stop trying to be all contrary just for the sake of it. If it makes any difference, I was the one who chose the film, not your brother. Will you just admit that you enjoyed yourself, already?"  
   
Sherlock frowned mightily as he folded his arms over his chest and slumped down in his seat. "I will admit to no such thing."  
   
Greg frowned in return, but as he turned back to his red-haired lover, he caught him grinning widely. Mycroft just shook his head with amusement as he rose to his feet. "I am afraid that I have a rather early meeting, so I think that it is time that I depart. John, is it correct to assume that you would like to start the new schedule immediately?"  
   
John nodded. "Yeah, so no visit tomorrow." Greg pouted at him slightly, but John simply gave him a little shove. "Date night for you and me instead, my love. You'll still be having your fun, so knock that shit off."  
   
"What's this, then?" Sherlock had perked back up, his eyes darting between all of the men gathered.  
   
"We worked out a schedule, and I asked for one night back, that's all."  
   
"I would be happy to sacrifice another night, if you would like one of your own, brother mine."  
   
Sherlock waved off Mycroft's offer with an impatient gesture. "Not necessary. I don't feel the urge as often as either John or you do. I am sure that Greg will make time for me as needed. He proved as much this evening." He narrowed his eyes slightly. "What else?"  
   
"Some boundaries, which will be discussed with you if a situation comes up that calls for it." John reached out to tangle his fingers with Sherlock's, squeezing gently. "If you and your brother ever end up in the same room together and one of you happens to be naked, we'll work it out then. Mycroft has made his boundaries clear to us and I know that this may seem a bit unfair, but we're going to keep them to ourselves for the moment."  
   
The quicksilver eyes narrowed a bit further. "Why?"  
   
John heaved out a sigh as he glanced up at Mycroft, his long fingers tangling together uneasily as Greg stood beside him, one arm wrapped around his waist in support. "Because you aren't always the most understanding person, my love. Greg and I can accept his limits without needing to know the reasoning behind them. You cannot. You poke and prod and pout and push push _push_ until someone gives in, and I will not allow that to happen in this situation. We are all part of this family now, and however it all happens to work out, in any configuration, everybody involved must be fully informed and consenting of their own free will. No manipulations, and no 'convincing' arguments, is that clear?"  
   
"But..." Sherlock's mouth twisted with disappointment. "But if I wish to say my piece, will I not be allowed?"  
   
"Of course you can explain yourself. That's always welcome. Just - once you've said it, you have to let the other party consider. You have to let him decide. Don't expect someone to just say 'okay' because you've unravelled yourself in front of him. That's the way this all works, Sherlock."  
   
"I..." The younger man sighed heavily and nodded. "I understand. Of course, I'm counting on both of you to smack me down if you feel it necessary."  
   
Everybody gathered around chuckled slightly. "You can always count on that, my love." John hesitated briefly. "If you're able to think about it now, I'd like to know what your stand is on the possibility of Mycroft and me playing together at some point in the future..."  
   
Sherlock blinked rapidly, his fingers softly pulsing against John's as he debated in his head. "In the future, yes. I don't know when. For right now... I'm not ready. However, I would find kissing and cuddling to be acceptable, as long as you were both fully clothed. No touching bare skin below the neck and shoulders, and especially below the waist, but I imagine that doesn't need to be said."  
   
"It always needs to be said, little brother. We cannot afford to make assumptions, particularly with so many involved."  
   
"Understood." He tilted his head as he considered some more, his quicksilver eyes sweeping over his brother's form. "Watching would also be acceptable, with no third party involvement beyond simply being in the room. No touching between John and Mycroft in those situations." He nodded curtly and stood, gently shaking off John's hold. "Whatever else happens, I would be more than happy to abide by whatever restrictions Mycroft has stated. Again, I will be counting on either of you to keep me in check, which I am appalled to note that you both seem to do on a rather frequent basis." Sherlock attempted to school his features into his best 'haughty' expression, looking down his nose at everyone in the room. Except for his brother, of course, who had pulled himself up straight to his own infuriatingly taller height and was looking at him with mixed superiority and amusement. "You have - _domesticated_ me, for God's sake."  
   
"Oh, the horror." Sherlock snorted an irritated huff of breath out through his nose, but as his brother gently pushed Greg aside and held out his arms, he almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to reach him. Mycroft pressed their foreheads together, gently running his fingers through his brother's dark curls with a soothing hum. "You've grown so much in such a short time. I am immeasurably proud of you, little one." Sherlock hissed with mortification as his lovers chuckled at the use of Mycroft's childhood endearment. "Oh, do shush. You know that they won't tease you. Not for this. My little Lockie..." Sherlock moaned almost imperceptibly, shuffling just a bit closer, tentatively placing his arms around his brother's waist. Mycroft hummed again before gently twining his around Sherlock's torso, holding him close, rocking him slightly. "Yes, little one."  
   
John looked up at Greg from his perch on the sofa, once again employing the use of his vest as an impromptu tissue to wipe at his traitorously leaking eyes. He abruptly stood and started to tug at Sherlock's arm as Greg reached out to pat Mycroft's bum. "Enough of that, now. Mycroft has an early appointment, remember?" Sherlock released his brother and immediately turned and draped himself over John, causing the smaller man to stagger under his weight. "Want some tea, love?" The wild curls nodded in silent agreement, and John hauled his heavy burden over to the sofa, where he flopped down inelegantly and turned his face into the cushions.  
   
"Go on, pet. Get your suit and get changed. We're keeping this here, yeah?" Greg ran his hand over Mycroft's bottom, giving it a swift pinch as the red-haired man nodded. After a quiet yelp, he turned and hustled down the hallway in the direction of the main bedroom, quickly returning with his neatly hung suit in hand. With a lingering look back over his shoulder, Mycroft headed up the stairs to the attic room to change. Greg bit his lip and started after him, but was quickly halted in his tracks by one extremely dirty look from one tiny ex-Army doctor.  
   
"No, Gregory. Leave the poor man in peace so that he can escape from this madhouse. You'll be seeing him again before too long."  
   
"Two whole days..." The look somehow intensified in its dirtiness, and Greg recoiled from his lover slightly.  
   
"Yes. After which you will have one whole night plus an additional morning in order to thoroughly degrade him howsoever you wish." Both men shifted their gaze slightly as there was an indistinct groan from the direction of the sofa and a very distinct wiggle of a lush posterior as Sherlock drew his knees up tight to his torso. John blushed as Greg grinned wildly, but then they were both distracted by Mycroft coming back down the stairs, hastily stuffing his knotted tie into one of the pockets of his suit jacket as he draped it over one arm. His collar was open, one edge of the bandage peeking out tantalisingly from underneath the fabric.  
   
"John..." He fluttered his pale eyelashes becomingly and threw a woebegone expression in Greg's direction. "Surely Gregory may at least show me to the door? My driver will be here momentarily."

John threw his arms up before turning a severe glare at Greg and raising a warning finger. " _Behave_ yourself." Sherlock chuckled softly and John turned his impressive but ultimately ineffectual glare on his back before stomping into the kitchen to start up another round of tea.  
   
Greg swiftly grabbed at Mycroft's arm and hauled him in the direction of the stairs and down, not bothering to hide his urgency to get a few moments alone with his pet. Once at the bottom landing, he yanked him into the shadows at the side of the stairs, out of the straight line of sight from the sitting room door. Mycroft hummed into his desperate kiss, casually dropping his jacket on the floor as he plunged his hands into Gregory's pyjama bottoms, grasping hold of his arse and squeezing firmly. With just a little wiggle and grind, his lover's cock had swelled and was satisfyingly hard against the taut muscle of his thigh. He tilted his head back as Greg licked and sucked at him, biting his lip to keep his moans to a bare minimum.  
   
" _Jesus_ , pet." Gregory's voice was just a low rumble in his ear, and he whimpered quietly as it reverberated through his head. Without another word, he reached up to rip the bandage off of his pet's neck and instantly closed his lips around the wound, sucking hard. Mycroft's yelp of pleasure was swiftly cut off by a firm hand over his mouth, Gregory's other arm wrapped tight around his waist to keep him from completely collapsing as his legs went boneless. Without moving his hand from his pet's mouth or his lips from his victim's neck, Greg slowly lowered him to the floor, straddling his outstretched legs as Mycroft simply shuddered limply underneath him. Once he was securely settled, Greg shoved his hand into his pyjamas, fisting himself furiously while continuing to suck on that long white neck, pressing his tongue down hard against the bitemarks simply in order to feel his pet shake beneath him.  
   
Mycroft's eyes went wide and he clutched at Greg's hips, pulling the fabric down to get a better view. He made shushed but frantic noises against the palm pressed firmly over his lips, digging his fingernails into his lover's flesh until he finally withdrew, his dark eyes wild and fierce. "Quiet, pet. _Ngh_ , God."  
   
Mycroft rolled his eyes and Greg released him with a little smirk. "My mouth, Gregory. _Please_." He moaned quietly as Greg threw a look in the direction of the stairway and nodded curtly, struggling to his feet. Mycroft swiftly rearranged himself on his knees and grasped at his lover's hips as he pulled him close, swallowing him down without delay.  
   
Greg stifled his own shout by biting down on the ball of his thumb, digging his teeth in hard. He braced his other hand against the wall as he thrust into his pet's hot mouth, his nimble tongue fluttering along the underside with each stroke. Understanding the need for efficiency, Mycroft employed all of the tricks he had at his disposal, rolling his violator's bollocks in his fingers, tugging gently and then more firmly as his middle finger caressed the upraised flesh of the seam between sack and arsehole. He swallowed as Gregory thrust into his mouth steadily, timing it so that his throat closed around the head of that glorious prick as it withdrew, only to be shoved in again, somehow ruthless and gentle all at once.  
   
He moaned low in his throat as he felt the soft lumps under his fingertips start to draw up, as he felt the first tremors running up Gregory's thighs. He glanced up and met his lover's eyes as he looked down at him, his attention suddenly riveted on the lovely picture of those pink lips wrapped around his girth, his thick cock being eagerly sucked down even as a trace of tears leaked from Mycroft's eyes, as his pet took him in again and again and with another muffled shout he drove in deep and pulsed straight down that oh-so-willing and oh-so-open throat.  
   
Mycroft looked up at him with such an air of smug satisfaction that Greg had to choke back another sound, this time one of laughter. His pet licked at him daintily, smiling at every jerk of his lover's body as he swiped his tongue across over-sensitive flesh. Tucking himself away again and heaving out a solid breath, Greg hauled Mycroft to his feet and shoved him up against the wall before kissing him deeply, running his tongue all along his mouth, taking a very thorough taste. "Saturday, pet. I am going to fuck you until you've got nothing left. Until _I've_ got nothing left." Mycroft's knees threatened to give way again, but Greg refused to let him slide to the floor, pressing his body up against the wall hard. "And then I'm going to hold you all night long... Chase away those bad dreams, yeah?"  
   
"Oh, _Gregory_..."  
   
"Get on with you now. I'm sure to have to endure a lecture, and you don't need to hear that. Like John said, I'm the one in control, right?"  
   
Mycroft grinned at him ruefully as he ducked down to retrieve his jacket, pressing one more gentle kiss to his lover's lips before taking his umbrella out of the stand by the door and stepping out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)
> 
> I also wanted to add that I do have a tumblr. I don't think I'll be posting any teasers or anything like that, but I will be tossing out notifications, since it seems that AO3 hasn't been informing a few of my loyal readers. You can find me at 'bitemebat.tumblr.com' if you'd like.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John & Sherlock team up on Greg a bit, and Sherlock has a bit of a meltdown regarding his brother...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting anything last week - super crazy at work and then I ended up getting ill due to the stress. Ergh. I really had only intended for John to try to explain to Greg what exactly he means to Mycroft, but once again I found my muse veering down some interesting paths. 
> 
> I do hope this suffices, as I'm fairly sure I won't be able to post anything else this week. You never know, though - I have said that in the past only to be proven very, very wrong!
> 
> Please comment, I absolutely adore hearing from every one of you... :)

Greg dusted himself off before tugging his vest down in a vain attempt to cover his groin, where the dampened fabric of his pyjamas was sticking to him a little uncomfortably. Heaving out a sigh, he started up the stairs while composing his best hang-dog expression. He hoped that Sherlock had been distracted by something else, because while he could perhaps attempt to fool John, he knew that there was no way to fool the consulting detective. Halfway up, he shook his head and regained his normal cheeky grin. Fuck it. Of course John knew precisely what he and Mycroft had been up to, and if he wanted to deliver a lecture, so fucking what - his pet, his prerogative, yeah?  
   
When he stepped back into the sitting room, head held high, Sherlock had shifted on the sofa, sitting up in the middle with his hands wrapped around his mug. He smirked and rolled his eyes as Greg wandered over and sat down on his left, reaching for his own mug, which was steaming on the coffee table.

"Oh, bless, love."

John narrowed his eyes from where he was sitting in his armchair, the cushion having been rescued from the floor. Sherlock looked between the two men with growing irritation as they all drank their tea in silence, finally taking more offence to John's thunderous scowl than Greg's mock innocence.

"Oh, for _God's_ sake, John! What else did you expect? Honestly! Of course Mycroft would service him - that's his purpose, after all - to be the outlet for the basest of Greg's urges." He let his eyes slide to the side, shaking his head at his lover's little smirk. "I am a bit surprised that you did it more or less right outside Mrs. Hudson's front door, however."

Greg snorted out a laugh as he nodded toward John. "First moment we had alone due to that one's interference, wasn't it? And we were quiet." He blushed slightly. "For the most part."

John cleared his throat with a pointed glare. "No, Sherlock. Mycroft may be Greg's sub, but he's more than just his personal masturbatory device. That may have been his intention in the beginning, but things have changed. Now he's one of us, and that was what this whole night was supposed to be about - showing him that he has a place amongst us all, as a family unit. Tonight wasn't meant to be about sex, and I expected that beast over there to bloody well behave himself, to maintain control of the situation, quite unlike this morning." He sighed as he turned his attention back to the older of the pair sitting on the sofa, who was staring at him, aghast. "I know your little bite earlier was an accident, but if Myc is going to be spending more time here, especially on weekday mornings, you need to be able to say no to those fluttery eyelashes of his. You're the Dom, he's the sub. It's up to you to control the situation, to control him."

"My what?" Greg blinked slowly, putting his empty mug back down. "Mycroft is _not_ my sub. I'm not - we're not..." He waved his hands vaguely. "That."

He blinked again as his lovers turned nearly identical expressions of derision on him and said, "Yes, you are," in the same tone of voice.

Greg shook his head emphatically. "No. I told him right from the beginning that he was his own person and that he was free to do as he pleased. He submits to me, yeah, but I don't control him." He shuddered delicately. "I don't own him. No. Good God, _no_."

"He is your sub, Greg. He follows your lead, and bends his will to your desires. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, that is what he is." John ignored the steady shaking of his lover's silver head. "That's what I meant when I said that you are in control. He can be as enticing and teasing as he likes, but if you were to stand fast against him, he would happily withdraw. He's only feeding off of your energy, giving you what you want."

"As any good submissive would." Sherlock quirked an eyebrow as a healthy blush bloomed high on his cheeks. "And my brother has always excelled in every aspect of his life - he is no doubt a very good sub."

"Stop. Seriously, just fucking stop saying that. I just... I can't right now. Besides, that's something that should be kept between Mycroft and myself, yeah?" He held up a warning finger and glowered at the both of them. "Just don't call him _that_ in front of me. I'm serious."

John and Sherlock exchanged a look that instantly infuriated Greg, as their expressions held such notes of smug superiority that he felt a quite sincere and rather startling urge to pop them both in the face. John's eyes narrowed further as Sherlock angled his body away from Greg, his chest puffing up as his fists clenched unconsciously. Finally John relented, breaking the growing tension in the air by passing a hand over his eyes and sighing deeply.

"Oh, love... I know that you haven't had experience with this sort of thing before, that you're still finding your way. Maybe I'm not explaining adequately, maybe I'm being overbearing, I don't know. I think I get why you don't like that term specifically, but I'm just trying to make you understand. When Mycroft walks through that door, he enters a certain headspace. Strictly speaking, he really isn't Mycroft Holmes anymore. He is your _pet_ and nothing else. In this flat, he lives and breathes for you. Everything he does here is for _you_."

Greg took in a great draught of air, his head suddenly gone quite swimmy. John's words weren't entirely new to him - he had heard variations of them in his own mind as he had pondered Mycroft's role in his life. But hearing it confirmed from an outside perspective just made it all that more real - and just that much more terrifying. Of course there was the giddy thrill of having such a powerful man so devoted to him, but then, my God... What do you do when someone just hands you their life like that? Greg was no stranger to authority, of course. Being a Detective Inspector meant that the lives of his team were his responsibility, and he took that duty very seriously. But at the end of the day, they all went home, and their lives were their own again.

This was different. If he made a questionable call out in the field, he could count on someone - Donovan, most likely - to speak up about it. But here, with Mycroft, could he count on the same thing from him? If he was so vested in giving Greg what he wanted, would he even tell him if it was something that he didn't want? Or would he simply push through his own discomfort or even disgust just to please him? The very idea _repulsed_ Greg. That was why he had insisted from the beginning that Mycroft was a person in his own right, especially while under this roof. That he had the freedom to speak up if it felt it necessary. But if what John was saying was true, then would he?

Greg was shaken out of his internal reverie by long, pale fingers tracing along his thigh. "My dearest brother would not place his faith in you if you did not deserve it, if he felt you could not handle it." Sherlock paused as a shadow crossed his face. "It is perhaps true that he once placed his body in the hands of men that were not entirely worthy of such a treasure, but he has never before given his heart." Greg wound their fingers together and tilted his head as those quicksilver eyes went a little distant. "I believe he came close, once. But that was after you and I had become acquainted, and shortly after your own meeting, he was no doubt already holding a large piece of himself in reserve for you. You captured his attention like none had before, of course. His partner at the time was extraordinarily perceptive - he knew about Mycroft's fascination with you, and was not at all threatened by it." Sherlock's lips twisted slightly as his eyebrows drew together. "I only met him the once, and it surprised me how easily I took to him, even in my addled state. You - you would have liked him, Greg. He was a good man."

Greg cleared his throat and glanced down at their twined fingers. "Was?"

Sherlock flinched slightly, even though his lover's tone was gentle. "A-after my final...ep-episode, Mycroft became worse. He threw himself back into his work with a vengeance, and everything that Jack had accomplished with him just broke to pieces. Mycroft sent him back into active duty in the field, and it took less than a year for them to declare him missing and presumed dead. And after that - well, you can just imagine." Greg winced and nodded, a tiny smile quickly flickering on and off as John abandoned his armchair and came to sit on Sherlock's right side, taking his other hand. "H-he had absolutely no regard for his own well-being, blaming himself for my own spectacular failure." There was a harsh but quiet sob, a trembling gasp for air from the consulting detective's throat as his lovers clung to him. "It's m-my fault. It's all my fault that he took up with that horrible w-weasel disguised as a man, that he allowed himself to be tortured and passed around like a two-bit whore. My f-fault. My fault he's b-broken, oh God it's all _my fault_."

This time the sob absolutely tore itself from that fine, pale throat, and John let out one of his own as he quickly straddled Sherlock's lap and pulled his face into his chest. Greg allowed his fingers to slip from his grip as Sherlock grabbed hold of the back of John's vest with both hands and held onto him as if for dear life. He went to his own knees beside them, feverishly running his fingers through wild curls before clasping the nape of Sherlock's neck securely and pressing his mouth to his ear.

" _Baby_. Baby, baby, no. Shh, sweetheart. _Not_ your fault. Not at all. His actions were his own, his reasons were his own. Your brother is not broken, and nothing is your fault. Any blame that he took on was all of his own volition." Greg squeezed his neck gently as John bent to press soft kisses on their mutual lover's face. "D'you hear me, Sherlock? Mycroft is _not_ broken, and nothing that happened to him was in any way your fault." Sherlock turned his head to the side slightly, taking in a shuddering but cool draught of air as he unabashedly wiped his face on John's vest. "I need to hear to say it, baby. Tell me that you hear me, that you understand."

Something twinged in Greg's chest as one red-rimmed brilliant blue-green eye peeked out at him and a plush bottom lip trembled uncontrollably. "N-not my fault?"

"No, sweetheart." John soothed his fingers through Sherlock's curls as he pulled his face away from the shelter of his chest. "Like Greg said, Mycroft's actions were all his own."

Greg pressed his lips to Sherlock's temple, kissing him softly, insistently. "What else, baby?"

"Not br-broken." Sherlock's hand shot out to grab at Greg's wrist. "But he was, Greg. Before you, before this - he was shattered. There are still p-pieces missing."

"Well, we're gonna fix all that, aren't we?" Greg turned a wry smile on John, who had tucked himself into the curve of Sherlock's body quite firmly, his own eyes damp and bloodshot. "Family project, yeah? One giant puzzle for all of us, helping to put each other back together again." Both John and Sherlock let out little huffs of laughter, their exhalations sounding just a bit too moist and bubbly for Greg's comfort. He wrinkled his nose as he leant back slightly. _"Ew."_ This time both of his lovers held their hands over their mouths as they broke down into snorting gasps for breath. He smiled and shook his head. "Right. I think it's time we went back to bed. Neither one of you is getting a kiss goodnight until you wash the slime off, is that understood?"

Greg ducked away as they both lunged for him, and he was off the sofa in a flash, scurrying down the hallway and closing the bedroom door with a bang behind him. Sherlock snorted again and simply wiped his besmirched hand down the front of John's shirt.

"Oh, ta for that, you great git." Sherlock smirked as John pulled a face at him. He blinked rapidly as the older man's expression softened suddenly, his untainted hand tracing along his damp cheekbones, his thumb caressing the curve of his bottom lip. "Is it better now? The guilt?"

"A bit." Sherlock sniffled quietly as he nodded in the direction of the bedroom. "I do understand what you are both telling me, and logically, I agree. However." He took in another deep breath, raising his eyes to the ceiling to hold back on another bout of tears. "There is no denying that some of the things that Mycroft did were indeed a direct result of my own actions, and the knowledge of that is something that I will bear until the end of my days."

"Good." John smiled gently as another brief spasm of pain travelled over his lover's face. "It's not about making it go away, love. It's about owning up to it, about taking responsibility for your deeds and the hurt that you may have caused. In a way, you do have to take the blame for that initial injury, but also realise that anything that resulted from the pain your brother felt is truly not your fault. Above everything, remember what Greg said. Mycroft's actions were his own."

Sherlock's face started to crumple into hideousness again. "So much p-pain... He loves me so much, and I just keep h-hurting him."

" _Shh_... Quiet, my love. Not anymore, Sherlock. Not with me and Greg around. Especially Greg, yeah? He's already turned into quite the guard dog, hasn't he?" John pressed his lips to the crinkle in between his lover's eyebrows before sliding off his lap.

Sherlock huffed quietly as he was pulled to his feet. "I don't understand how 'pet' is more a more acceptable designation than 'sub'."

"Well, it's just an endearment, isn't it?" John took his hand and led him into the bathroom, pausing to turn off various lights along the way. "He doesn't mean it literally. Just like you're not really his 'baby', right? There's no collar or lead, and it's not like Mycroft sleeps at his feet or anything."

"Sits there, though."

"Yeah, and I can tell you that Greg was not entirely happy about that. But he ultimately recognised that it was Mycroft's choice, so he allowed it." John leant up against the bathroom counter as Sherlock ducked down at the sink, scrubbing away the evidence of his mini-breakdown. "I think he has more of an instinct about their dynamic than he realises. It's taking his head a little while to catch up, but, eventually, it will. Either way, we both know that your brother belongs to Greg completely. So it ultimately doesn't matter what our opinions are. Where Mycroft is concerned, Greg has final say."

Sherlock passed him the flannel and nodded. "I quite agree."

John wiped at his face and grimaced slightly before peeling his vest off and tossing it in the direction of the laundry hamper. "Until Greg comes to terms with the idea, we will not refer to your brother as a submissive in any context." John winked conspiratorially. "Even though he really, really is." Sherlock snorted quietly and took a moment to run his fingers through John's hair and over his shoulders. He sighed as his lover went up on his toes to press a gentle kiss to his lips, his eyes fluttering closed as the smaller man tucked himself into his chest. "You're tired, aren't you, sweetheart?"  
   
Sherlock sighed, knowing that it wasn't exactly a question. "Bloody emotions. _Feelings_ , pah!"  
   
John giggled into his chest. " _Mm_. Could use a snuggle or two, I bet."  
   
Sherlock stiffened slightly and then relaxed with a deep chuckle of his own. "Perhaps. You will get no more of a definitive statement than that."  
   
"C'mon, then." John once more took him by the hand and led him into the darkened bedroom, where Greg was already situated on the side of the bed closest to the door. He turned slightly and patted the space in the middle before holding out his hand to Sherlock, who took it with a little shiver. He lifted his lover's hand to his mouth, brushing his knuckles with his lips before releasing him and shedding his dressing gown. John was waiting patiently on the other side of the bed as he clambered over Greg's body, tucking himself into his heat with a little groan of relief.  
   
Greg buried his nose in the back of Sherlock's neck, giving voice to a little growl of satisfaction as he wriggled deeper into his body. With one strong arm wrapped securely around his waist and his own tucked in around John's torso, the lanky consulting detective took in a cleansing breath and willed his body to relax. He found himself drifting almost immediately, but there was something that wasn't allowing him to fall under completely. He quickly realised that Greg was still wide awake, his body held in an attitude of awareness. He was thinking - his mind sifting through memories.  
   
"Greg, do shut up."  
   
There was a puff of breath over his neck, and Sherlock trembled as his body broke out into gooseflesh. "Wasn't speaking, was I?"  
   
"You're thinking. It's annoying."  
   
"Prat." John turned his head slightly. "What is it, love?"  
   
Greg's arm tightened around Sherlock's stomach. "I think I did meet your brother's Jack, once." The monkey in the middle stiffened suddenly as John wriggled around to face the both of them. "It was brief, but yeah - you're right, baby. I would have liked him. Considering that we nearly ended up shagging in the gents', I think I would have liked him a lot." Sherlock glanced over his shoulder, his eyebrows hovering high on his forehead. "Of course Mycroft indulged his overprotective streak, din't he? Set a tail on me right after he and I had our little talk about you. Nosy bugger just showed up in my garage while I was working on my bike."  
   
"At least he didn't kidnap _you_..." Both Greg and Sherlock chuckled slightly at John's bitter tone.  
   
"No doubt he wanted to." Sherlock shifted a bit, so he didn't have to crane his neck to look Greg in the face in the half-light streaming in from the window. "He never did tell me about your first meeting, although it was clear that you made quite the impression. Mycroft has never been easily impressed, you know."  
   
"Mm. Could have had something to do with my stripping half-naked in front of him, poor lad. I think his brain may have gone a bit off-line."  
   
John's eyes went wide. "You devil."  
   
"Didn't really think much of it, to be honest. My hands were dirty, I didn't have a rag nearby, so I used my shirt."  
   
Sherlock scoffed. "Half-naked, covered in grease, doing manual labour on a Freudian manifestation of your penis - the very epitome of the hyper-masculine stereotype. I'm astonished he didn't simply fall to his knees right then and there."  
   
Greg grinned, his teeth flashing white. "Well, he did have his brolly to help keep him upright, of course. From what I recall, he _was_ leaning on it pretty heavily..."  
   
John laughed quietly, snuggling in a little closer to Sherlock's body. "And then what?"  
   
"Well, once I caught his reaction, there was only one thing I could do, really." He winked down at his lovers. "I teased the ever-loving hell out of him, of course. Made sure he got a good look at my bum when I bent to retrieve a random bit of fluff, stretched out a bit and ran my hand through my hair, gave my belly a little scratch just above the waistband of my jeans, that sort of thing."  
   
"You preened in front of my poor brother like a bloody peacock! No wonder he became so besotted so quickly."  
   
Greg reached up to pinch Sherlock's chin between thumb and forefinger, smiling down at his disapproving glare. "I was still rather new to acknowledging my attraction to men, my tetchy love. I will admit that his reaction gave me a thrill, and perhaps I did play it up a bit. But your dear brother did not succumb. Not that I would have known what to do with him in that moment if he had..."  
   
"Pah. I am certain that he did succumb, albeit in the privacy of his personal en suite at his office."  
   
All three of them giggled a bit and then John suddenly sobered, his eyes gone quite intense. "And this Jack bloke, then?"  
   
Greg quirked an eyebrow. "Jealous, my love?"  
   
John frowned. "Interested." Sherlock snorted loudly, earning him an adorable little scowl from one rumpled ex-soldier.  
   
"Hm. So after tuning up my dear old girl, I took her out for a bit of a spin around the neighbourhood. This was in the middle of the divorce, so I needed some ready cash, and I had a mate that had been trying to get a hold of her for a few years. Damn near broke my heart, but Nora was insistent." Greg sighed heavily. "She tried to be decent about it in the beginning, but I think my coming over gay all of a sudden hit her harder than she realised, and it didn't take too long for her to get nasty on me. Kept poking at me about money, and my bike was the only thing that I had left that could be easily liquidated." Greg tucked his cheek on top of Sherlock's arm and sighed again. "She was such a _lovely_ little thing, feistier than she appeared - could accelerate like a demon, and always so tight around the corners." He chuckled a little ruefully. "Probably wouldn't be able to handle her now - too old, too slow."  
   
"Oh, love..."  
   
"Nah, it's true. Should probably get rid of those damn leathers, too. They just take up space, and I haven't even tried to slip them on in the past five years or so. The jacket still fits, mostly - but I sincerely doubt that the trousers do."  
   
Sherlock snarled quietly. "You will not even entertain the idea of getting rid of anything until both John and I have had an opportunity to take in a full show. I'm just now realising that Mycroft has no doubt had the privilege of such a viewing, and that is wholly unacceptable, even if it were merely through a camera's eye. If I were not feeling stupidly fatigued from our earlier activities and the addition of my rather embarrassingly emotional meltdown, I would insist that you dig them out right this instant. Frankly, it's ridiculous that you haven't modelled them for us yet, given that both of us have shown keen interest."  
   
"Hear, hear!" John gave him a sly wink along with his enthusiastic cry of assent, and Greg broke out into helpless giggles.   
   
"All right, you silly little monkeys. I hear, and I obey. Maybe we'll save that show for Saturday, yeah? Maybe see how Mycroft reacts when he walks in and sees me lounging on the sofa clad head to toe in leather..."  
   
"He will no doubt swoon right where he stands. Best have smelling salts within easy reach of the sitting room door..."  
   
John gave Sherlock a cheeky grin. "Oh, your brother will be in good hands, my love. There is a doctor in the house, after all." He turned his eyes back to Greg, who was simply watching them with a dopey little smile on his face. "And you've distracted us once again, you devil. Continue, if you please."  
   
Greg inclined his head in a gallant nod. "So I go to meet up with Freddy at our usual pub, and shortly after I settle in, this bloke walks in and sits down at the bar. Attractive, but in a sort of forgettable way, y'know? Smallish, dark hair and eyes. Nice, easy smile. Moved well, like he was comfortable in his skin, like he knew how to handle himself."  
   
"Not all that forgettable, apparently." Sherlock's voice was dry, and Greg stifled another giggle into his arm.  
   
"It's only because I'm focused on actually remembering him, baby. If I don't hold onto that memory, then he fades, like any good spook would. Honestly, when I was chatting with Fred, I took no notice of him. It was only after the deal was made and I turned my attention back to the match that he came into focus. There was something that raised my hackles a bit, I couldn't say what it was at the time, other than I'd never seen him there before. So I went to check him out, playing up the copper angle. He took the tack that he was a stranger in the neighbourhood, just some random cabbie who had dropped off a fare nearby and then decided to take a bit of a break to watch the match." Greg smiled faintly. "And then he started flirting, and damn if I didn't find myself responding in kind, and fairly intensely, at that. When that happened, well, my instincts went all haywire, din't they? I think we were about two minutes away from just rubbing off on each other in the loo when his suspiciously fancy mobile went off."  
   
"Mycroft."  
   
"Pretty sure, yeah. He played it off like it was his missus, but I figured it out later. As he was leaving, he gave me his name. Jack."  
   
"Your physical description is quite apt. That was indeed the gentleman that Mycroft became involved with shortly thereafter."  
   
"Ah. So the phone call was to keep me from sullying his lover with my big ol' greasy mitts, eh?"  
   
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Rather the reverse. I'm sure that Collins figured out at that moment that my brother had designs on you, and that triggered their first illicit meeting."  
   
Greg frowned mightily. "What's this, then?"  
   
There was a quiet sigh, and Sherlock lifted his hand to run his fingers down the side of John's face, his eyes having slipped shut some time before. "My brother often played somewhat dangerous games when it came to satisfying his physical needs. The only pool of potential liaisons that he felt somewhat safe in choosing from was at his office. After all, he was the boss, so he could guarantee a certain degree of secrecy. The men he chose from were already sworn to protect him and his interests, and they all knew better than to try to describe their experiences to friends or colleagues. Most were rejected after only one meeting, and some were retained for occasional dalliances. Collins was one of the only ones that my brother had back to his rooms at the Diogenes for multiple visits. They were - devoted - to each other after a fashion, and kept in close contact for at least two years before it all fell apart. The nature of their relationship could not be known outside those four walls, of course, but I do believe that it was love of a sort. It certainly was a mutual appreciation, perhaps even a bit of co-dependency. After all, what else is love but an overwhelming need for another?"  
   
"Does he ever speak of him?"  
   
"I sincerely doubt it, and certainly not to me." A wry grin twisted his plush lips. "But then, we don't often need to speak, do we?"  
   
Greg grinned as he tweaked Sherlock's nose. "Come and see the Amazing Holmes Brothers! Seeing without looking, sharing their thoughts mind-to-mind. Come see and be eviscerated by their sharp wit and even sharper tongues..." Greg ran his fingers over Sherlock's brow as his eyes narrowed dangerously. "No, baby. Not freaks. You and your brother are miracles." He smiled gently as heat rose in those impossible cheekbones. "Almost as one, aren't you? Siamese twins born seven years apart. So unique and lovely and so unbelievably wondrous." Greg hummed low as he continued to swipe his fingers from side to side over the younger man's forehead, his touch light but persistent. He grinned as dark eyelashes began to flutter closed, even as Sherlock tried to stubbornly shake him off with a tiny twitch of his head. "Both of you so utterly beautiful." His lover finally succumbed, his head dropping onto his pillow as John mumbled incoherently into his chest. "The Phenomenal Holmes Brothers."

Greg sighed quietly as he pressed his lips to Sherlock's arm before settling back onto his own pillows. He draped his arm over his lover's waist, smiling faintly as his hand was instantly captured and his body pulled in tighter. Of course the great git hadn't succumbed completely. But rather than raising a fuss, Sherlock simply turned his head slightly.

"The Marvellous Holmes Brothers, property of one Gregory Lestrade."

Greg hummed noncommittally into the back of his lover's neck and let the warmth of Sherlock's body and John's soft snores lead him into slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)
> 
> I also wanted to add that I do have a tumblr. I don't think I'll be posting any teasers or anything like that, but I will be tossing out notifications, since it seems that AO3 hasn't been informing a few of my loyal readers. You can find me at 'bitemebat.tumblr.com' if you'd like.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and John enjoy one of their reinstated pub nights...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delving back into a little something that isn't just Greg and John, but then of course it becomes all about Greg and John! Hoping to update on part 3 soon as well, I feel terrible for having neglected any of the bits of my series. 
> 
> Enjoy, and please do comment, I simply live to hear your words.
> 
> Thank you, my lovelies!

Greg found his attention slipping away all through his work day, anticipating what John may have in store for him for the first of their newly reinstated 'pub nights'. Now that he came to think on it, he wasn't really sure that they had ever made it to the pub at all in those early days. There were the nights they'd had at the club, of course, but for the most part, the pattern had mostly been John coming over to his and the two of them simply shagging the night away. He had a feeling that his lover was planning something different than their usual, but whatever was in the works, they would be together, so it would naturally be a perfect evening in any event.

When they had worked out the new schedule the night before, Greg had initially been a little put out at the idea of not seeing his pet on Fridays, but really, it was only one night for God's sake, and John certainly deserved a bit of his undivided attention. In fact... Greg tapped his pencil on his desk for a moment. Had they actually had a night all to themselves since taking up with Sherlock? He shook his head as he contemplated. No, he didn't think that they had. A few moments here and there, sure, but not a whole night. Well, it would certainly be interesting to see if John could somehow manage to keep the great Consulting Detective out of their hair for the evening.

He lifted his face as there was a soft knock on the door to his office, and he nodded at Donovan curtly to indicate that she had his attention. "Nothing much going on here, boss. Paperwork on the Miller fiasco all buttoned up. You might as well call it a night - I'm sure you're looking forward to your weekend." She delivered the last line with a saucy wink, but the briefest flash of something in her face made Greg sit up straight.

"And how about yourself, then? You have any plans brewing?" Greg tilted his head as his Sergeant hesitated, and he held up a hand. "Never mind, Sal. Not my business." She frowned and started to turn away, but Greg cleared his throat quietly. "Just, uh - take care of yourself, all right?" He fidgeted in his chair slightly as she turned back, one eyebrow raised incredulously. "I mean, y'know - if you need to talk or whatever. I'm here, that's all."

Donovan's face softened into an actual genuine smile rather than the typical sardonic smirk that seemed to be permanently affixed to her face. "I'll remember that, boss. Get on with you, then." She tossed her head in the direction of the door and went back to her own desk.

Greg sat there for a few moments more, gathering his wits about him as his hands automatically reached for random papers and stacked them up neatly. He didn't know why he had offered to lend her an ear, other than reading a bit of something sad in her face when she had mentioned his weekend. Maybe it had been longing? It wasn't jealousy, at least not outright, but it did make him think on his own situation and how it must look to her. She was one of the few that even knew that he had multiple partners, two full-time and the third essentially at his beck and call. She had...who? As far as he knew, that sordid fling with Anderson had ended a while ago, although he was sure he had seen Philip whinging at her to take him back a time or two.

He had been proud of her for standing firm against the pleading, watching with pleasure as she had casually binned the insignificant gifts that would simply appear on her desk as if by magic. So he was proud, but what did that matter? He was her boss, not her friend, and he couldn't offer encouragement or commiseration or a shoulder for her to cry on. Well, no - that wasn't quite true, was it? After all, even if he had been stupidly awkward about it, that was precisely what he had just done. But she wouldn't accept. She couldn't. Donovan had fought tooth and nail to get where she was, and even if she did trust her Detective Inspector with her life, she couldn't trust him with this. Not that she didn't have knowledge that would send Greg right down to the bottom of the ladder if it happened to come out - even that dubious bit of insurance would never entice her to let her feelings be known to her superior officer.

Greg sighed as he pushed away from his desk, taking his suit jacket from the back of his chair and slipping it on. He took his mack from the coat rack, and closed the door to his office behind him firmly. Standing just outside, he tossed his coat over his arm and glanced around. Sally had already cleared off, the clean surface of her desk looking almost spare in comparison to his. There were just a few lights remaining, random DC's scattered about, stuck to their desks here and there, hurriedly finishing off paperwork or frowning at their computers in concentration. How well he remembered those days - struggling to thread together seemingly random facts, striving to prove his worth both to the Met and to his now ex-wife... Thank God that was all done with, even if he sometimes still ended up scratching his head in bewilderment these days. Greg gave his body a little shake, releasing the tension that usually crept up on him throughout the day as he smiled faintly. Yeah. It was good to be the boss sometimes...

He got home around six-thirty, and spent just a moment outside the flat with his hand on the door handle. Home. Even after so many months, it still felt a bit strange to him. Strange, but lovely all the same. Greg took the stairs two at a time, tossing his mack down on the sofa with an exaggerated flourish. And - of course there was nobody around to laugh at him good-naturedly. Damn. _"Oo-ooh!"_ He called out in a horrible parody of Mrs. Hudson's traditional greeting, grinning brightly as John's tawny head poked out from the bedroom door.

He frowned at him with a little shake of his head. "That's really dreadful, you know."

Greg sauntered down the hallway, holding out his arms. "I do." He folded John into a warm embrace, ducking his face down to bury his nose in the hair at the top of his lover's head. "But it got me what I wanted, din't it?" Greg inhaled deeply, instantly realising that John had showered recently, the scent of his shampoo mingling nicely with his cologne. "Mm, you smell lovely..."

The smaller man pushed away from him and straightened his collar, letting Greg get a good look. Rather than his typical jeans or chinos, he was wearing a pair of smart trousers, obviously the bottom half of a superbly tailored suit. It was a beautiful blue-grey, a shade or so lighter than his eyes, with the barest hint of a silver check in the pattern. Greg shivered slightly as his lover took a cobalt blue waistcoat off of a hanger and slipped it on, looking at him with a distinct twinkle in his eye as he buttoned it up.

Greg swallowed heavily against the dry click in his throat as he bit his lip. "I presume that Mycroft had a hand in this?" 

"Oh yes. I asked for a recommendation for a reasonably priced tailor, but of course he sent me to his own. He thinks he was clever in getting them to quote me something ridiculously low and then making up the difference himself." He paused as he turned toward the wardrobe mirror and preened slightly. "Thought I'd be kind and let him think he got away with it, though. After all, my birthday is only a week and a half away..." John turned back with a gentle smile and gestured at the nicest of Greg's suits waiting for him. It was just basic black, but there was a crisp new shirt as well, dove-grey, shimmering slightly in the light. "Get cleaned up, Gregory. We have reservations for seven-thirty."

"Oh, do we?"

John's slate-blue eyes twinkled up at him, and Greg simply couldn't resist pulling him in for a thorough snog. When his little soldier pulled away, he was distinctly cross-eyed, and Greg silently congratulated himself on a job well done. "Yes. Yes, we do. Shower. Please."

Greg snorted at John's terse words as he started to pull his clothing off, turning toward the bed and coming up short. Pausing in his decidedly non-erotic strip tease with his trousers pooled around his ankles, Greg reached out and picked up the sad bundle of old leather and patted it carefully. "Damn. I may have let it go too long."

John looked up at him with a little wince. "Haven't tended to them in a while, huh?"

"Din't think I'd ever wear them again, did I?" Greg let the bundle unfold itself with an uneasy creak, and delicately held the remainders of his leather trousers up to his body. "Did Sherlock dig them out?"

There was a low hum from behind, and Greg turned, bestowing his characteristic grin on his youngest lover. "Of course I did. John conveniently forgot about your promise, but I didn't. They don't seem to be in any condition for you to attempt to don, though."

"No, not like this. I'll have to see if I can't soften the leather up a bit. I don't suppose there was any..."

Sherlock held up a bottle of leather conditioner and a rag. "Yes, in the same box."

"No time tonight, of course. John seems to have us on a strict timetable."

He reached for the bottle, but Sherlock skipped away from him. "I'll do it." Both John and Greg stared at him with their eyebrows high on their foreheads. Sherlock sighed melodramatically. "Yes, domestic tediousness and all that rot. But you are going to be occupied, and although I do have some time-sensitive experiments brewing downstairs, none of them are at a critical stage. I'll simply take them down with me and tend to the task there, since you'll both be otherwise occupied tonight."

John frowned at the mention of experiments 'brewing', whereas Greg grinned at Sherlock's painfully obvious impatience to just get him into the blasted leather trousers already. "Oh, baby. You're so eager. It's fucking adorable." Sherlock scrunched up his nose, but merely rolled his eyes as Greg pulled his head down to kiss him gently. The younger man breathed out a quiet sigh over his lover's lips, his eyes flickering to John over Greg's shoulder.

John clucked his tongue impatiently. "Gregory."

Greg slumped his forehead into Sherlock's chest briefly and shook his head. "And maybe I'll have to give you a private show, since this one's being such a prat." He turned for the bathroom, catching just a glimpse of Sherlock's triumphant grin before he snatched up the trousers and leather conditioner and bounded out of the room, thundering down the stairs to his lab.

The older men watched him go with fond amusement, giggling at each other when he was completely out of sight. John followed Greg into the bathroom, watching with sincere interest as he finally stripped down completely and stepped into the shower. The smaller man cleared his throat. "You didn't mean it, did you, love?" Greg poked his sudsy head out from behind the curtain and frowned at him before ducking back under the water. "About giving him a private show - not letting me see?"

Greg's laughter bounced around the small room and he stuck his face back out to wink at his lover. "No, my darling, I did not. The first time will absolutely be for the both of you." He hummed as he rinsed a final time. "After that, well, we'll just have to see, won't we?" He turned off the water and drew the curtain aside, standing with his hands on his hips as John looked him over from top to toe very  _very_  slowly. "John, my dearest love. If you don't quit with the eye-fucking, then there's a very good chance that there's going to be a bit of actual fucking, and we will most definitely not make the reservations that you seem so keen on. So perhaps you should bugger off for a bit?"

John rolled his eyes in a decidedly Holmesian fashion and turned to go. "Fine. Just hurry up!"

Less than ten minutes later, Greg re-joined him in the bedroom, his face clean-shaven, his body and hair mostly dry, the latter having been styled somewhat messily. John clucked at him and started to reach for his head, but Greg drew back. "Wait until I'm dressed, at least!" 

John promptly perched on the edge of the mattress, tucking his hands under his thighs to keep them to himself. He didn't know why he was so bloody nervous - it was just dinner, for God's sake. But it was a real dinner, in a real restaurant, not just some cheap chippy for greasy takeout. Sure, all three of them had eaten at Angelo's numerous times, and that was definitely a romantic setting, but it wasn't quite the same situation. When he had first started seeing Greg, they had done what they could to keep it as quiet as possible, and that hadn't translated to a lot of time outside of their respective flats. They had of course gone to the cinema a few times, but that was easy enough to pass off as a couple of blokes bonding over an action flick, and nothing more than that. 

A proper sit-down dinner, however... Well, that didn't carry the same innocent connotations, did it? They'd had so many lovely (and quite filthy) moments together, but most of those had occurred behind the doors of 221B. John had never had an issue with laying his claim on Greg, but he had never felt right about displaying that same claim in public. He was tired of having to be conscious of his every move while out and about with his lovers - to be frank, he was fucking  _sick_  and tired of it. Tonight, he was going to go out with this gorgeous man on his arm, and he was going to make everyone around him positively green with envy. 

"Where are we going, anyhow?" John shook himself back into awareness to find Greg fully clothed, perusing his small collection of ties. He took in his lover's profile with a little tinge of pride, the cut of the jacket emphasising his strong shoulders, the trimness of his waist. The trousers were almost obscenely suggestive, hugging the curves of those solid thighs, with only the slightest peek at the firm bottom as the hem of the jacket rode up.

John sighed happily, feeling his cheeks heat up as Greg turned to him with a hint of a knowing smile gracing his lips. He gestured to him to come closer, reaching up to comb his fingers through Greg's silver hair as he closed his eyes languidly and hummed contentedly. "A place called Brasserie Zédel in Piccadilly."

"French? That's a bit of a surprise coming from you, love."

John frowned up at him as he put the finishing touches on his hair. "Curry isn't the only thing I'm capable of consuming, Gregory."

Greg let his tongue peek out from between his teeth, leaning into John's touch. "Oh, this I know very well, Captain my Captain."

"Oh, for God's sake..." John's cheeks burned even more forcefully as he shook his head at his lover. "Anyway." He unbuttoned the top two buttons of Greg's shirt and fussed with the collar. "It's nice, yes, but not necessarily fancy. No need for you to put on a tie." Greg quirked an eyebrow as he reached out to tweak the neat knot at the base of John's throat. "Yes, well. So maybe I felt like being a bit fancy." He smoothed his hand down Greg's lapels and then up over his shoulders and back down his arms. "You look better without one, actually. More relaxed, more confident."

"More fuckable." Greg chuckled low and dark as John's body jerked hard, his small fingers involuntarily clutching at his biceps. He pulled him in closer and nuzzled into the hair at his temple, breathing him in and humming with satisfaction. "Mm. Want you, John. Tonight, you're taking me."

"Oh sweet Christ."

Greg let another low hum vibrate through his chest. "Shall we, then?"

"Just hold on a second... Oh, fuck's sake!" John blew a sharp breath out of his nose. "I knew I should have had a quick wank while I was in the shower."

Greg laughed at him as he walked out into the hallway, leaving John to his own devices for a while. After a couple of minutes, he joined him in the sitting room and they went down the stairs together. Greg waited on the pavement as John locked up, and then as they went to the kerb to hail a cab, the smaller man reached out and tucked his hand firmly into the crook of his lover's arm. Greg's smile damn near lit up the entire street, and John felt an almost absurd rush of affection toward him, causing him to grip him even tighter.

It was a very pleasant night, the air warm but not stifling, a gentle breeze ruffling their hair as they entered the restaurant, with John's hand still clutching at Greg's arm. The atmosphere was genial, if perhaps a bit loud, especially when the band started playing. The establishment was done up in a classic Art Deco style, and the noise seemed to bounce off of the great marble pillars and high ceilings, exponentially increasing the sound. But the food was decent enough, and after their meal, Greg and John retreated to the attached bar for a drink (or two) to top off their evening. It was much quieter, the small cosy tables surrounded by lush, dark wood and leather having quite the calming effect on the both of them.

They found an unoccupied table in the corner and sat with their heads close together, holding hands and sipping at their drinks leisurely. For the most part they were content to simply be in one another's company, looking out over the myriad couples and parties that drifted in and out of the bar at a steady pace. Greg leant back in his chair and casually rested his arm along the back of John's, crossing his leg over the opposite knee. He essentially spread himself out the same way he had when John had first seen him - really  _seen_  him at Baker Street, possessing all of the space around him like a great big bloody alpha dog. 

John's heart was suddenly beating too fast, making him feel a bit weak and fluttery. "God, I love you." Greg turned to him in surprise. Not at the words, no - once that floodgate had opened, John had never had an issue with telling his lover exactly how he felt, but again, generally not while they were out in public. The grin that once more bloomed on Greg's face put all of the lamps in the room to shame, outshining them all. He reached out to cup John's face, running his thumb over his jawline before tilting his head up and bringing him in for a kiss. 

It was heated and sensual, the faint aroma of scotch tickling at John's nose as Greg's lips moved against his. Breaking away, Greg put his forehead to John's for a moment before sliding his lips to his ear. "I want you to strip me absolutely bare and lay me down and have your wicked way with me. I want to feel you inside me, John. Your tongue, your fingers - your magnificent cock. Make love to me, fuck me, claim me. However you want me, I'll let you, hell, I'll even beg for you if that's how you want it."

Greg growled low in his ear as he ran one hand up John's thigh, and the smaller man let out a shuddering breath, hot against his lover's neck.  _"Jeezus."_

"Take me home, my love. Please." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)
> 
> I also wanted to add that I do have a tumblr. I don't think I'll be posting any teasers or anything like that, but I will be tossing out notifications, since it seems that AO3 hasn't been informing a few of my loyal readers. You can find me at 'bitemebat.tumblr.com' if you'd like.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, and Sherlock is being an impatient git, as usual...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is shorter than I've been posting lately, but I had a hell of a week and this week promises to be much the same, and I really really wanted to post *something*, so here it is. I do have a bit started on the rest of John & Greg's evening together, but I have a feeling that it might not get posted. Hopefully I will be able to get properly focused and have another bit or two posted later on. 
> 
> Kisses, my lovelies, and if you have any encouragement to offer, please do. I realise that we've all hit that lull in the hiatus wherein things quiet down to a certain degree, but I've been feeling it especially hard this past month. *Sigh* - the muse is draggin' her wagon, that's for sure!
> 
> :)

Greg stretched himself awake, flopping down on his back and letting his body arch as a harsh groan burst from his mouth. After blinking up at the ceiling, he glanced to either side of the mattress. Sherlock's spot was cold, of course, but John's was still a little warm, indicating that he hadn't been up all that long. He grinned to himself as he stretched a bit more, feeling out the vague tenderness in his bum and the languid drowsiness lingering in his limbs. Last night had been amazing, and although a part of him was still a bit upset about not seeing his pet, John had certainly made up for it in his own way, oh yes he had.

He sat up slowly and blinked down at a present that had apparently been left for him sometime in the wee hours of the morning. Shifting sideways, he reached out and pulled the bundle of leather a bit closer, shaking out the trousers and running his palms over the material. Sherlock had clearly taken great care in restoring them, and they had cleaned up beautifully. Greg grinned as he noted the jacket hanging over the corner of the wardrobe, his boots at the foot of the bed, everything gleaming like it was shiny and new. Greg quirked an eyebrow and laughed at himself quietly. His lover's eagerness to see him all done up like some kind of stereotypical leatherman just amused the hell out of him. Amused him - and aroused him, if he were to be perfectly honest about it.

He paused, and then went ahead and shimmied the trousers up over his legs, smiling nostalgically as they slipped on with no resistance. The button was perhaps a bit snug, but once the leather warmed up, that shouldn't be an issue. As silently as he was able, he tip-toed over to the wardrobe and perused himself in the mirror, turning sideways and wriggling his arse saucily. Still got it, old man. Shit, he actually looked good. With a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure that he was still unobserved, Greg slipped his arms into the jacket and zipped it halfway up his naked torso. Fuck, he looked _great_. All the regular exercise was definitely paying off...

"Sexy beast. John and Sherlock are gonna piss their pants when they see you."

Greg giggled to himself and quickly shucked it all back off, wondering how long he could possibly draw out the torment. He snagged a clean pair of pants from the bureau and slipped them on before shuffling out into the kitchen, making a show of ruffling his hair and blinking sleepily as he yawned widely.

"Good morning, love." John gave him a peck on the cheek and started up the kettle as Sherlock frowned mightily from his spot at the kitchen table. "Did you see?"

"See what, John? I can barely even breathe properly after that buggering you gave me last night."

Sherlock practically growled as John grinned fiercely, a smug expression settling into his features. "The trousers! The jacket!"

Greg hummed vaguely. "Mm, oh yeah. Good job, baby. They look great." He slapped his belly gently. "Still not sure they're gonna fit on this tubby ol' gut of mine, though."

"That's why I left them there for you, you stubborn arse. Go put them on. Now!"

Greg leant back in his seat slightly as John turned raised eyebrows on their mutual lover. "And what was that?" Sherlock mumbled nonsense as his fingers twisted together awkwardly. Greg cleared his throat. "All right, baby. Care to try that again?"

Sherlock sighed heavily, rolling his eyes melodramatically. But he also conceded with a little duck of the chin, biting his lip in contrition. "Please, Greg. Would you please go try on the leather trousers that I worked so hard to restore for you last night while you and John were busy violating each other. Please."

Greg chuckled as John set his tea in front of him, his face nicely pink as he giggled quietly. "Much better, my love. But I’m afraid you're going to have to be patient a little while longer. I would like to wake up a bit, and I do need a shower something fierce."

"But you're just going to get all dirty again anyway!" Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest and glowered some more.

Greg lifted one eyebrow as he took a sip of tea. "Oh, you think so, do you?" He turned a sharp smile on both of his lovers, shivering gently as Sherlock whimpered and John moaned, clutching at the table to support himself.

John reached out to grab at Sherlock's arm, who was half out of his seat already. "Patience, love. I know that look. The more you protest, the longer he's gonna draw it out and he’ll be a right bastard all along the way. Find something else to occupy your time for a little while, if you can."

Sherlock snarled. "My latest spores are still in incubation, I've already rearranged my sock index _twice_ , there are no new or interesting murders in the papers, there are no new enquiries on my blog or yours. There is nothing else to do!"

John blinked at him as Greg took another long draught of tea, sighing blissfully in the background. "Play for us, then." Something softened in Sherlock's eyes as he glanced between his lovers, blushing at Greg's encouraging smile. "Go on..." John nodded his head as Sherlock pushed away from the table, impatience simply radiating from his lanky form.

But he did as requested, pulling his violin case out from behind a wobbly stack of magazines and flipping it open. Something shifted in his face as he looked down at the instrument, becoming more relaxed, more open, somehow. Not that that was reflected in the first screeching notes that were scraped out of the poor violin’s hide, though, making both John and Greg cringe in their seats. Once Sherlock had worked out a little of his frustration by just sawing away with no regard for form or rhythm, or for the sanctity of his lovers’ eardrums for that matter, he settled into something bracing and yet soothing at the same time.

Neither Greg nor John knew what the piece was, of course. It could have been composed by anyone, including Sherlock himself. Occasionally, Sherlock would attempt to school them in some aspects of the finer arts, but his method was usually sorely lacking in any actual instruction. He would simply demand that they name the composer, and they might try to appease him, spitting out ‘Bach’ or ‘Mozart’, or any of the other somewhat recognisable names. Sherlock would snort with derision and bark out something incomprehensible in Russian or French or bloody well Greek, and more often than not, they would allow him his moment of triumph with a show of gratitude on their parts. It let him feel all smug and superior, and of course he was far more demonstrative in his affections when he was secure in his mental mastery of all those around him.

John smiled and wandered into the sitting room as Greg stood and made himself some toast. With the smaller man’s attention devoted entirely on him, Sherlock found himself relaxing even further, not even bothering to keep track of Greg’s activities in the kitchen. John was right - their mutual lover would come to it in his own time, there was no point in attempting to push him. He would resist simply because he could, because he knew that it would drive them right around the bend. Greg seemed to take great delight in tormenting him in particular, most likely because of the many years that he had been subjected to Sherlock’s withering scorn while out in the field.

His stance softened even further as he transitioned into something slow and lovely, the rise and fall of the music almost achingly sweet and undeniably erotic. Sherlock still didn’t know what he had done to deserve either of them, but especially Greg, who had stood by him through all of his blackest days, asking absolutely nothing in return. He caught his dark eyes looking at him over the rim of his mug, and the little wink that he dropped made Sherlock’s heart trip in his chest. He may have even skipped a note or two, but he recovered so smoothly that neither of them noticed.

In order to prevent another potentially embarrassing distraction, Sherlock closed his eyes and let himself drift away on the music, moving seamlessly from one piece to the next. Thus he was completely unaware as Greg took his time finishing both his breakfast and his tea, as he stood behind John’s armchair with one hand on his shoulder, the both of them watching him in silence for a long while. With a gentle kiss to the top of John’s head, Greg disappeared down the hall and into the bathroom.

He showered quickly, not wanting to miss much of Sherlock’s moving performance if he could help it. The sound carried remarkably well down the hallway, and he was able to just sit on the bed for a few minutes, closing his eyes and letting the sweet strains drift all around his head. It transitioned into something a little darker, more intense, and Greg suddenly felt his blood racing with it as he opened his eyes and once more looked at the costume that he was about to don.

It was more than a little ridiculous, and he was somewhat afraid of disappointing his lovers with a potentially inadequate performance. Not that they had ever complained when he took charge before, but this was a bit different, wasn’t it? He couldn’t help but think of the first official family night a couple evenings previous, when both John and Sherlock had insisted on calling Mycroft his sub. Although he had objected to the term on some basic level, he knew it to be the truth.

It was just such a cognitive dissonance, to think of this undeniably powerful man, the bloody British Government personified, to think of him as someone who needed to submit. And to be the one that he willingly submitted to - oh, what that knowledge does to a man... Greg normally didn’t allow doubt to take residence in his head or heart, but knowing the type of relationship that Mycroft had favoured before he came to him always gave him pause. Could he live up to his lover’s expectations?

Well. Perhaps it was time to find out, yeah? Greg sighed as he once again pulled the leather trousers close, caressing the supple material idly as he listened to Sherlock playing in the sitting room. He took his time as he slipped everything on, completely forgoing pants and a vest. He ran his hands along his chest and up his leather-clad thighs, standing in front of the wardrobe mirror, nearly snickering as he pulled various faces at himself. But the longer he stood there, his natural heat warming the leather, moulding it to his body, the deeper he felt himself slipping into the role.

After all, that’s all this was, wasn’t it? He’d done undercover before, engaged in a bit of theatre in order to pull someone into his web. Yes, this was just a covert operation, and he would get his man, (or men, in this case), just like he always had before. The grin that sliced across his face at that thought was a far cry from the mocking smiles that he had sported just a few moments earlier. Greg turned to the side and ran his hands over his body again, tilting his head and hardening his gaze. For good or ill, it was time to get this experiment underway. He was ready.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg finally gives Sherlock what he wants, and a little more besides...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greg the leatherman... Mm-hmm... 
> 
> Hee! :) Already have a significant portion of the next chapter written up, and then a good two or three after that ready to go! 
> 
> Please do comment, keep the muse happy! She's been a bit bipolar these last couple of months...

Greg stopped in the doorway to the bedroom and took in a cleansing breath, letting it out slowly as he once again ran his hands down his leather-clad body. Then he tip-toed down the hallway like a child planning something naughty and hoping not to get caught, almost holding his breath as he inched along, trailing one hand along the wall to support himself. He propped himself up against the doorframe as he reached the sitting room, crossing his arms over his chest, striving for a cool but casual pose. God, what a twat. Snickering at himself in his head, he let his gaze wander through the room.

Sherlock was half turned away, his eyes firmly closed as he swayed to the rhythm of the sweet strains his violin was producing. John was still in his armchair, his posture somewhat loose and relaxed, his arms draped languidly over the sides of his seat. That changed abruptly as Greg settled his eyes on the back of his tawny head, watching with amusement as something in the curve of his lover’s neck suddenly went stiff. He could still feel when eyes were on him, poor lad. But he didn’t seem to mind so much this time, if the palpable energy that Greg could feel radiating from him wasn’t entirely in his imagination.

John sat up slowly, his posture ramrod straight as he migrated to the edge of his seat. He kept his face turned toward Sherlock, obviously determined not to steal a glance before their dark-haired lover had his chance. Greg almost chuckled at the sweetness of the gesture, but knew that it wouldn’t be long before John’s patience would run out. Indeed, it seemed that the ex-Army man was attempting to capture Sherlock’s attention with nothing more than his patented steely-eyed glare, as his head shifted every time that the musician’s did, tracking his every motion. Greg watched with amusement as Sherlock’s brow crinkled with consternation, as his elbow started to dip, making the notes come out wrong.

The younger man turned abruptly, opening his eyes and his mouth at the same time, no doubt in anticipation of berating John for distracting him. But of course his gaze went straight to the sitting room door instead, where Greg was still posing for them. He winced slightly as the violin gave out another screeching squawk at Sherlock’s abrupt jerk of surprise and delight. Greg grinned as John snapped to his feet and turned around sharply, his slate-blue eyes raking over his form hungrily. He unfolded himself and languidly raised his arms over his head, catching hold of the doorframe as he stretched, all too aware of the little sliver of his bare belly that became exposed as the jacket rode up his body.

Sherlock practically tossed his violin down on his armchair and took a step toward him, but Greg shook his head decisively. “None of that nonsense now. Put it away neatly, Sherlock.” He schooled his features into something impassive as the lean figure visibly trembled at his authoritative tone, as John tossed a smirk in his direction. Greg raised an eyebrow and watched with satisfaction as the smirk faded away, as John himself shivered with delight. He nodded as Sherlock took extreme care to store his instrument away properly, closing the case and setting it down in its accustomed place. “That’s it. Now come and see.”

Greg took a couple of steps into the room, raising his arms off to his sides and twirling slowly. He once again had to fight off the laughter that threatened to erupt at his own performance, but he swiftly felt his embarrassment fade as he heard twin moans and gasps of appreciation from behind him. As he turned to face his lovers, he felt his shoulders go back and his chin lift with unseemly pride upon seeing the looks on their faces. Eyes gleaming and tongues darting out to lick at lips, fingers twitching with a desire to reach out and touch, their reactions fed something within him, and Greg felt a little power-hungry creature in his chest greedily grasping for more. He spun again and grinned wickedly as there was a fleeting touch along his backside, a trailing of fingers just underneath the curve of one arse-cheek.

He turned quickly and caught sight of Sherlock’s hand outstretched, of John looking almost constipated as he kept both of his arms held tight to his sides. Greg stepped away from Sherlock’s reach and tilted his head. “Did I say you could touch?” His youngest lover looked at him in confusion, his plush bottom lip caught in his teeth. He shook his curls uncertainly as he opened his mouth, most likely to explain his actions, but Greg abruptly decided that he didn’t want to hear it. “Silence.” Sherlock almost looked as though he had been slapped, but he nodded tremulously as Greg tilted his head toward John. “You see? He knows, Sherlock. He knows what I want. Don’t get ahead of yourself, and don’t take liberties. You just watch John.”

He turned a broad smile on the smaller man and watched as his posture relaxed slightly, his eyes darting up to meet his for just a moment before dropping to the floor. “Good. You get thirty seconds.” Sherlock’s face twisted up with unbecoming envy as John stepped forward, his cheeks nicely pink. “Go on, then.” With another quick glance up at his face, John immediately stepped around to his backside, crouching and running his hands up the backs of his legs. He spent a precious few seconds groping his arse quite unabashedly before caressing his back and shoulders, even trailing his fingers through the hair at the back of his head. John came back around to his front, his eyes roving over his torso, hands squeezing at leather-clad biceps and ribs and waist, crouching once more to press his cheek lovingly into one solid thigh. Greg held his breath as his lover came up on his toes, spending the last five seconds of his allotted time with his nose buried in his neck, inhaling the heady combined scent of the leather jacket and his skin.

“T-time.” Sherlock trembled with frustration as John stepped back with a quiet sigh of disappointment, and Greg had to take a moment to collect himself. He had endeavoured to distract his body from John’s attentions by deliberately counting out the seconds in his head, but his lover had been so very thorough in the short amount of time given him that his attempts had been rather fruitless. His cock was throbbing uncomfortably in its leather confinement, and he could feel the blush high on his cheeks. He took in a deep breath and let it out through his nose nice and slow, ignoring the smug set of John’s shoulders, as the good doctor had at least managed to keep the unbecoming emotion off of his face for the most part.

After composing himself, Greg looked the both of them over carefully. John was standing at his version of parade rest, arms loose, shoulders high. Sherlock was hunched over slightly, his body trembling uncertainly. Greg tutted quietly as he went to him, running his hand over his brow and through his curls. “Hush, baby. No need for you to worry. I’m gonna give you just what you need, yeah?” He stretched up on his toes to peck him on the tip of his nose, smiling crookedly as the long body stilled, as the quicksilver eyes crossed briefly to track his motion. Greg stepped back and nodded again as he noted that Sherlock’s hands were clenched tight in his pyjama bottoms. “Good. That’s good, baby.”

Sherlock offered a wavery smile as Greg paced around the both of them quietly. He still wasn’t entirely sure of where he was going with this, but getting them both naked would be a good start, right? “Strip, if you please.” He shook his head as Sherlock shed his dressing gown in a blink of an eye, simply letting it fall to the floor as he shimmied his hips, the loose fabric of his pyjama bottoms slipping free almost immediately. By contrast, John was methodically removing each article of clothing and folding it neatly before setting it aside carefully. Greg tilted his head and eyed their bare backsides greedily, allowing his tongue to peek out from between his teeth in anticipation. He cleared his throat pointedly as Sherlock stepped free from his pyjamas and started to shove them aside with his foot. Freezing guiltily, his curly head twitched in a bid to look behind him, but he stopped himself just in time, looking instead to the side, to John. He sighed almost inaudibly as he slowly bent to pick up his discarded items, yelping quietly as Greg stepped right up to him and grabbed his hips, pushing his hard cock right into the cleft of his arse.

Sherlock moaned and pushed back against him, but Greg stepped away abruptly, leaving him reeling. “You’re learning, baby, but you’re not moving quickly enough. Fold everything neatly and then get down on your knees.” He watched the gooseflesh ripple down Sherlock’s spine with interest and more than a bit of pride, once again circling around to face the both of them. With everything finally folded and stacked neatly next to the sofa, Sherlock slowly lowered himself onto the floor, kneeling quietly before him. He glanced up briefly at Greg’s face as he stepped closer, but then focused his gaze somewhat lower, licking his lips in anticipation. “No, Sherlock.” The high, intelligent brow furrowed in consternation, and the plush lips opened even as his eyes jumped back up to Greg’s face. He clamped a hand down over Sherlock’s mouth and stepped around him, pulling his head hard to his abdomen.

“I said no.” Greg heard John’s sharp intake of breath from next to him, but didn’t have to look to know that he was still holding himself in readiness for his next command. No, he was well enough disciplined for that. Sherlock, however… Using the hand that was still firmly fixed to his mouth, his thumb digging into the hollow of his cheek, he tilted the curly head down, forcing him to look at the floor. He bent down slightly, putting his mouth to his ear, close enough that he could see the tiny hairs on the back of Sherlock’s neck standing to attention as he spoke. “You wanted this, baby. But I’m beginning to wonder if you knew what you might be instigating here, so allow me to clear up any misunderstandings. I am in control. You are to do as I say, and only as I say. If you give me any guff or try to disobey, then I will allow John to tie you up and do with me as he likes while you will be forced to watch.” Greg smirked as Sherlock’s body gave one solid jerk, whether of indignation or approval, he couldn’t quite tell.

He let his free hand stroke the back of Sherlock’s head slowly, up against the grain of the sensitive hair follicles, his nose huffing out quiet breaths over the back of his hand as he trembled uncontrollably. “That’s it. You just listen to my voice, let it soothe you, yeah? Let it take you down. Down to a place where you don’t have to worry, where you don’t have to hide. Where all you have to do is listen, and obey.” Greg pressed his lips to the top of his lover’s head as his body wilted against him, his head dropping even further, his breath steadying. “That’s it, my love. Such a good lad you are…” He carefully removed his hand, watching intently as Sherlock’s chest rose and fell with steady, calm respiration, as his shoulders went back but his head remained bowed, his gaze focused on nothing in particular.

He glanced at John, who was looking at him in stark admiration and respect before he realised that he was even looking at him at all, his slate-blue eyes immediately dropping to the floor. “Good. You’re both so good for me.” Greg stepped in front of them again, taking in their submissive postures with a little rush to both of his heads. He placed his hands on his hips. “All right. Before we go any further with this, I want you to understand that you are both free to tap out any time you need to. Green, yellow, red, right?” Greg waited until they both dipped their heads gently. “If your mouth happens to be occupied, hold up a hand and the action will stop. I’d like to hear a verbal acknowledgement from both of you.”

The quiet but sincere “Yes, sir,” that came from two sets of lips made Greg quiver in his boots, but of course he didn’t let it show. “All right. Love, come here, stand in front of Sherlock.” John obeyed, keeping his eyes lowered even as Greg tucked himself up close to his back, forcing him just a bit closer to the kneeling figure. “That’s it. Hands behind your back, love.” Once his arms were in position, Greg pressed in even closer, trapping John’s hands in between their bodies. “You make sure to tell me if your shoulder starts to bother you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mm. Such a sweet voice you have, my love.” John shuddered against him, holding his body in stiff anticipation. Greg reached down to stroke Sherlock’s hair, running his fingers along his jawline to his chin, raising his face, looking down at him over John’s right shoulder. “You’re going to suck him off, baby. Mouth only. Your hands stay where they are, are we clear?” Sherlock blinked up at him in acknowledgement, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as his fingers dug into his thighs. “Oh, so good for me. I’m going to hold him still for you, and I want you to make it last. Nice and slow.” He grinned down as a little spark lit up his youngest lover’s face. “Make it art - play him like your violin.”

Greg let John look down into Sherlock’s face as he shuffled just a bit closer, dipping his head and running his closed lips along the underside of his cock. John shuddered with delight, a low moan echoing through his chest even as he clamped his lips down tight to prevent it from escaping. Greg almost laughed, but how could he? After all, both of his lovers were doing exactly what he wanted them to, with no hesitation and no complaints. Humming quietly, Greg reached up with his left hand and took hold of the underside of John’s jaw, slowly lifting his face and pulling his head back so that it was cradled against his shoulder.

John was left blinking up at the ceiling, his chest hitching with shallow breaths. Greg spread his stance slightly, making sure that his body would provide adequate support, and placed his right hand on his captive’s lower belly, pulling him in even tighter. Then he hooked his chin over John’s right shoulder and settled down to take in the show. Sherlock’s eyes glinted up at him with a wicked gleam even as his nimble tongue darted out to flick over the head of John’s leaking cock. Greg gave him a little wink and a nod, and that was when Sherlock really got to work, focusing all of his attention on the task that had been assigned to him.

He did just as Greg had instructed him, mostly employing his lips and tongue and teeth, bestowing tiny kittenish licks here and gentle nibbles there. He spent a considerable amount of time mouthing at John’s bollocks, sucking them in and closing down around them, pulling back so that they popped out of the ring of his lips with an obscene noise. John grunted indistinctly, his fingers twitching against the skin of Greg’s belly where the jacket had ridden up. Greg tilted his hips, grinding his erection into John’s backside, chuckling quietly as he moaned in response.

Having apparently decided that he’d had enough of feasting on John’s dangly bits, Sherlock licked a long stripe up the underside of his cock, taking just the head into his mouth. Greg grinned wickedly as John’s body twitched wildly, involuntarily fighting against his hold. He spread his right hand wide, pressing into the muscle just above his pubic bone, watching with interest as John’s cock jumped in Sherlock’s mouth. The kneeling figure hummed languidly and slowly, oh-so-slowly began to move his head forward, enveloping the whole of John’s prick in his mouth in one smooth glide.

Again, the twitch and shudder that ran through the small frame tucked into his made Greg’s head swim with desire and delight - such an overwhelming feeling of power that he felt quite giddy with it. Sherlock kept up a steady pattern of bobbing and sucking, keeping his mouth somewhat loose and his touch light, his movements almost hypnotic. It wasn’t long before John relaxed completely into Greg’s hold, something in the steady rocking of Sherlock’s mouth sending him down. Sherlock himself had seemingly checked out a while ago, his eyes a little unfocused even as he performed his duty admirably.

Greg took in a deep breath and slowly loosened his hold on John’s body, taking a half-step back. The smaller man swayed slightly, but maintained his posture, hands behind his back, head tilted up to the ceiling. Greg ran his hand up his torso and over his chest, caressing the firm figure reverently. Still so fit and so beautiful, but even more so like this, warm and pliant and eager to please him. He kept one hand supporting John’s head as he took another small step back and to the side, letting his fingers reach out to trail over Sherlock’s shoulder. He didn’t even blink, hardly acknowledging his presence at all as he continued to suck gently.

Greg hummed into the quiet that had settled, running his fingers through short tawny locks and wild black curls. “So beautiful and so obedient.” He kept his voice pitched low, striving to maintain the sense of blissful quiet. “Are you still with me?” He smiled at the faint hums that came from both of his lovers, John’s stomach muscles jumping as he strove to keep still with Sherlock’s tongue vibrating around him. “Good. So good for me.” Greg tilted John’s head back to its normal position before gently rearranging his arms so that they were at his sides. “Look at him, love. Look at those beautiful pink plump lips wrapped around you, that gorgeous mouth. It was made to suck cock, wasn’t it? Made to be used. Use him, love.” John blinked slowly as he looked down, a little bit of hunger dawning in his expression. “Oh yes, there you are.” His fingers twitched against his thighs, his arms raising and then falling back down. “You’re allowed, John. Hold him in place and fuck that lovely face of his until you come. I want to watch you make a mess of him.”

Greg stepped behind the kneeling figure and placed his hands on his shoulders, nodding down at John as he looked up at him doubtfully. “Do as you’re told, love.” Sherlock moaned thickly as John instantly grabbed a fistful of his hair, as he tilted his hips, driving the whole of his length into his mouth, down his throat. He spread his thighs and sank down until his arse hit the floor, tilting his head back against Greg’s belly, leaving himself open to be violated. John didn’t hesitate a second time, stepping into the space that Sherlock had made for him, reaching up to clasp Greg’s shoulder for support even as he kept one hand firmly twisted in the dark curls.

Sherlock moaned again as his head was sandwiched between the two men, as Greg stood tall and straight, his own leather-clad erection digging almost painfully into the back of his neck as John fucked his face with abandon, clearly striving for his release. “That’s it, love. He wants it, in’t that right, baby? Wants your come in his mouth, over his lips and chin and cheeks. Come for him.” John groaned and twitched as Greg growled, his gravelly voice low and dangerous. “Come for me, John. For me.”

John threw his head back as he thrust deep, one thick spurt flooding Sherlock’s mouth before he withdrew, letting fly over his face as his cock jumped in his hand. The kneeling man closed his eyes with a beatific smile, deliberately grinding the back of his skull into the hardness digging into him from behind. Greg moaned quietly, both at the sensation and the lovely picture in front of him, thick white streaks painting the high cheekbones, John panting quietly as he squeezed out every last drop, shaking his cock to make sure that Sherlock got it all.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John keep Greg entertained for just a little while longer...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porny porn-porn ahead, oh me oh my... Yup. Just our three lovely lads having some fun, and there is OH so much fun to be had. :)
> 
> Please comment, keep the muse fed. 
> 
> I adore you all. *mwah*

“Beautiful. Now get down there and clean him up.” Greg’s head swam again as John instantly dropped to his knees, gently and carefully licking up every bit of his come from the pale skin, sharing filthy wet kisses and soft murmurs. “Okay, baby. Up on your feet.” Sherlock swayed slightly, but both Greg and John did what they could to aid him in standing. He leant back against Greg’s strength, letting out an almost agonised moan as his broad fingers went straight for his aching prick.

John shuffled forward on his knees eagerly, humming happily as Sherlock gasped and moaned, thrashing his hips haphazardly as Greg tugged at his cock, not exactly roughly, but, well - not exactly kindly either. Sherlock had been riding the edge of his own arousal since being ordered to his knees, and both of the men that were tending to him were extremely aware of it. Greg snarled as he bit down on the cord that was standing out on the left side of Sherlock’s neck, squeezing just a bit harder as he gasped audibly and shuddered against him.

“God, look at you… So beautiful. Sometimes I think you love sucking cock just as much as your dear brother. Makes you so hard, so desperate. I bet if I had left you down there with John’s cock in your mouth for long enough you would have come on your own, without a hand on you at all.” He chuckled darkly in Sherlock’s ear as John leant in and flickered his tongue over the head of his prick. “Oh, but what’s the fun in that, hm?” Sherlock thrashed his head slightly, trying to hold himself back and failing utterly. Greg growled again as he reached around him, winding his fingers in John’s hair even as he let go of his prize. “Do it, love.” John took in a solid breath from his nose and simply shoved his face right into Sherlock’s groin, deep-throating his cock without warning. He gagged on it, and Sherlock’s back bowed as he suddenly came like a geyser, making John choke again. He pulled off and tilted his face up as Greg once again wrapped his hand around that lovely stiff prick, stroking and pulling and milking him quite dry, painting John’s face in much the same manner that he had painted Sherlock’s.

John moaned quietly, opening his mouth, his pink tongue quivering as it captured the pearly drops, darting out to lick at his lips and chin. Sherlock gasped and shuddered, his legs trembling quite visibly as Greg stepped back and took hold of his elbow, once more lowering him to his knees. His supplicants faced each other and Sherlock lifted his hand to gently trace over John’s cheek, wiping up a bit of his mess and sticking his fingers in his mouth. Greg ran his hands through the hair at the back of their heads as John was licked clean, as they both settled down on their heels, staring at each other in a sort of blissed-out daze.

Greg smiled down at them as he caressed their shoulders, running his thumbs along the curves of their ears and along their jawlines. “You have no idea what this is doing to me... Oh my loves - you make me so _happy_ …” They blinked up at him in silence, both mouths quirking up with satisfied smiles. Sherlock’s lips turned down into a slight frown as his fingers twitched against his thighs, the muscles in his arms jumping erratically. John tilted his head and glanced up at Greg’s face before dropping his eyes once again, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Greg chuckled softly and nodded, once again spreading his arms out to the side. “All yours, then. Touch me as you like.”

John instantly sagged into him, wrapping his arm around his lower leg as he leant his head up against his thigh. He hummed quietly as he turned his face into the strong muscle, almost purring as he rubbed his cheek against the leather sensuously. Sherlock watched him for a moment, his eyes darting up to capture Greg’s expression before dropping back down to his knees. “It’s all right, baby. You’re allowed.” The long fingers twitched again before carefully reaching out and resting lightly on the toe of one boot. “That’s it. C’mon, sweetheart. I want to feel your hands on me.”

Sherlock moaned and turned into him, wrapping both hands around his ankle and slowly sliding them up his leg. Greg shivered delicately as his dark-haired lover shuffled around on his knees, his hands in constant motion as his fingers traced along the inseam of the trousers, up to the crotch and then in between and back down again, tangling briefly with John’s hand before reversing in their track. Greg broke out into startled laughter as Sherlock scooted around to his backside, going up on his knees and simply planting his face into the crack of his arse, breathing him in deeply.

He looked down into John’s somewhat dazed but undeniably happy face as his fingers traced along the waistband of the trousers, tickling at the bit of belly just under the hem of his jacket. Greg shook his head fondly and then tilted his chin up, wordlessly encouraging his little army doctor to his feet. John groaned quietly and obeyed his silent demand, bracing his hands on Greg’s hips as he stood, swaying in place. Greg pulled him in closer with one hand clutching firmly at his arse, squeezing hard even as he cupped his face with his free hand, bringing him up for a gentle kiss.

John pressed his cheek to his chest as he was released, as Greg moaned quietly and let his head tilt backwards onto Sherlock’s shoulder as he regained his feet and draped his long body over his back. They simply stood like that for a long while, Greg holding tight to John’s glorious arse with one hand and the back of Sherlock’s thigh with the other, as they gently caressed his leather-clad body with curious and reverent fingers. When the maddeningly light strokes at arse-crack and groin became entirely too distracting, Greg shook himself slightly.

“Bedroom.” They reluctantly let go of him, but he didn’t let them go far, taking them both by the hand and leading them down the hallway. Once back in the bedroom, Greg leant up against the bed and started to bend down to unlace his boots, but they got there before he could. They each took a foot, and Greg stared down in awed and amused silence at the little crinkles of concentration on their foreheads as they bent to their individual tasks. They both stood as one after the boots were removed and set aside, communicating with each other with little more than significant looks and vague hums.

Greg shivered with delight as they turned on him, hands and eyes once again roaming, caressing and exploring. Sherlock began to draw down the zip on his jacket, stopping around the mid-way point to let his fingers dance over the bit of chest hair that had become exposed. John tutted quietly and finished the job, choosing to tickle at Greg’s belly as it was revealed, tracing the fine line of dark hair leading from his navel down into the waistband of his trousers.  

Greg shifted and slithered, getting the jacket to slide somewhat over his shoulders before shrugging it off and simply letting it fall. John was entirely too distracted by his treasure trail to even notice, but Sherlock certainly did, and the look he cast at his silver-haired lover was so fierce that it could have melted stone. Greg narrowed his own gaze and Sherlock abruptly looked down at the floor, suitably chastised.

“So go hang it up, baby.” He kept his eyes on his youngest lover as he gathered up the loose bundle of leather, carefully wiping the non-existent dust off of it before regaining his feet. He went to the wardrobe and draped it over the open door, just as it had been positioned when it was waiting for him that morning. Greg nodded in approval and then gasped quietly as John drew his zip down, deftly slipping his fingers into the gap and caressing his trapped cock. He watched as Sherlock’s eyes darkened with an intoxicating mixture of lust and avarice, drawing his plush bottom lip in between his teeth as John cooed with delight.

Greg tilted his head as he wiggled his fingers to get Sherlock’s attention, beckoning him closer and pointing at the floor. He felt his own swift rush of lust fogging his brain as the consulting detective’s legs wobbled dangerously, his body seemingly reacting automatically to Greg’s wordless demand. He shook it off as his edict was obeyed, Sherlock sinking to his knees right where he was standing and then crawling over to him, with absolutely no trace of embarrassment or shame.

He positioned himself as before, at Greg’s backside, ducking his head low to really bury his face in his lover’s arse, reaching up with both hands to press his cheeks together, almost as if he wanted to smother himself in his heat and scent. Greg thought about offering words of encouragement, or perhaps ordering them to do this or that, but he instead allowed his mind to go blank as they worshipped his body in any way that they chose. Which at the moment, seemed to be with little more than their noses and breath, as they both inhaled greedily and exhaled hot blasts through the leather covering his body.

John hummed, going up higher on his knees to lick along the waistband of the trousers, one fingertip slowly stroking his aching flesh. Greg growled low and tilted his hips, putting one hand on the top of John’s head and pushing him into his groin, rubbing his nose into him firmly. There was a soft chuckle from behind, and Greg grinned as he tilted his hips in the other direction, providing an easier target for Sherlock to enjoy as well. Thankfully, John got the hint and also got the button undone, finally pulling the trousers open enough to draw out his fully hard cock.

Greg sighed in relief, spreading his stance slightly as one small hand encircled the root and squeezed firmly. _“Unh.”_ Sherlock whined quietly as he tugged at the leather, finding it too difficult to work down to gain access to what he was seeking. Since Greg very much wanted to know what he was intending to do back there, he tapped at the top of John’s head and winked as he glanced up from his treasure, his slate-blue eyes almost glazed over in bliss. “Pay attention, love.”

John blinked dazedly and shifted his head to the side, looking around his lover’s solid thigh. Sherlock whined and tugged again, and a single snort of laughter was forced from the smaller man’s nose. With a tiny nod, he withdrew slightly, giving Greg the room to get the trousers pulled down adequately, wriggling and writhing in place as too many hands tried to help. He let out a long sigh of relief as the cool air of the room hit his skin, as those hands and noses were put right back to work.

Sherlock immediately took hold of his arse with both hands, digging his fingers in hard before spreading his cheeks and once again planting his whole face right in there. Greg’s startled giggle gave way to a moan as John ducked down low and sucked one of his bollocks into his mouth without delay. They both made noises of greed and delight as they attacked their chosen targets, lips and tongues working him over quite thoroughly. Greg felt his own knees beginning to tremble as Sherlock started to lick at his pucker delicately, as John pressed a loving kiss to the tip of his cock.

He reached out blindly to support himself on the bed, his torso bent at an awkward angle as he tried to give both of them the access they needed. He shut his eyes and simply let the sensations wash over him, letting their enthusiasm, their obvious desire for every part of him to flood his brain. Sherlock growled as his tongue penetrated him, and Greg shuddered as it slipped and wriggled within him, grinding his arse back into his face. John moaned as he slid his mouth all the way down to the root of his cock, gagging slightly and pulling off only to slide back down again. Greg found himself making small movements with his hips, wanting to push back against that delightfully invasive tongue and needing to thrust deep into that glorious wet heat.

He felt trapped between them, unable to seek just the rhythm he needed to get off, but oh wasn’t that just a marvellous conundrum to be stuck with? Until it wasn’t anymore, of course, until he realised that the low, needy whines that were filling the air were coming from his own mouth. He straightened abruptly, dislodging Sherlock from the prize that he was apparently determined to keep licking for eternity, pulling John off his cock by his hair. They both protested with weak noises, but Greg cleared his throat as he shook his head, turning in place.

With John positioned on his left and Sherlock pulled round to his right, he grabbed hold of the hair at the back of both of their heads. “Open your mouths, stick out your tongues and stay where I put you.” They both moaned quietly and obeyed instantly, and Greg simply put his cock in between them and pressed their faces close together. He attempted an exploratory thrust, a long slow glide, and of course they understood what he wanted because they were both so very clever, weren’t they? Lips closed down on either side of his cock, giving him just a bit more friction and he thrust again, groaning his approval.

“Yes, like that. Baby - your fingers need to be up my arse. Love - yours need to be on my bollocks.” Greg hummed as they once again obeyed without hesitation, Sherlock delicately working one and then two fingers into his bum as per his orders, and John reaching up to roll his sack in between his fingers, cupping his bollocks in his palm. “Just like that, oh but you are so good for me. So very good…” Greg let his voice drift off as he began to move, holding their heads tight to his body as he thrust again and again, looking down at the tops of their heads as his cock slid between their mouths. The texture of the hair under his fingers, their quiet whines and moans as they were used, the obvious enthusiasm in the trembling lips and quivering tongues that surrounded him. God, but it was good, so very good, and it was all for him. “Baby - deeper - oh fuck yes, like that. Love - just a bit harder… _Ah!_ ” He hummed and moaned and gasped out a brief warning, but they had already felt the beginnings of the tremors starting to wrack his body so they were ready for him, closing down on either side of his cock just a bit more firmly, tugging at his bollocks and pressing fingers in just a bit more and he toppled over the edge of the cliff with a sharp cry and lingering moan.

Both John and Sherlock tilted their heads slightly as he came, opening their mouths wider and sticking their tongues out further in hopes of capturing some of the bounty. Greg shook and shuddered and came for what felt like ages, still holding their faces tight to his quivering cock as he continued to thrust between them slowly. His release ended up being smeared all over their cheeks and chins and necks, quite a bit even winding up smushed into their hair as he spurted and splattered and jerked. He didn’t let go of his fierce grip on their heads until every last tremor had passed, finally leaning back against the mattress and caressing them gently as he regained his breath.

He winced slightly as Sherlock’s fingers were withdrawn, looking down as they glanced up at him with smug if thoroughly despoiled faces. Greg chuckled quietly as he shook his head. “Oh, but I’ve made a right mess out of the both of you. Poor things.” He ran his fingers down their necks, his ego puffing up even more as they both shivered under his touch. “Stay put.” He wriggled his trousers back up and quit the bedroom in favour of the toilet, giving himself a quick scrub at the sink and dabbing himself dry before tucking his still-plump cock back in place. Greg turned and perused himself in the mirror, once more running his hands down his torso and back along to his bum. Fuck _yeah_.

Rolling his eyes at his own ridiculous behaviour, he found that even after that frankly spectacular orgasm, he was still eager for more. He wondered if his lovers would be as well… Rinsing out a couple of flannels, he traipsed back into the bedroom with a considerable bounce in his step, which obviously did not go unnoticed by either John or Sherlock, as they glanced at each other with distinct amusement in their eyes. They turned their attention back on him as he approached, tilting their faces up and closing their eyes in anticipation of being wiped clean.

“Disgusting little creatures…” Sherlock smirked as Greg carefully scrubbed at his face and perfunctorily ran the cloth through the sticky patches in his curls. “All right baby, up on the bed with you.” John was next, and although he also started out with a smirk, it swiftly devolved into a grimace as Greg had to get a bit rough with a spot under his left ear. “Good goddamn, but I was all over the place, wasn’t I?” Sherlock snorted from his spot on the mattress, holding out his arms as Greg grabbed John above the elbow and helped him up before shoving him in the direction of the bed.

His lovers curled up together with their arms around each other, settling into the mattress with a soft sigh. Greg went to dispose of the dirty cloths and came back, sitting down sideways on the edge of the bed and watching silently as they caressed each other. He let out a low noise of approval, reaching out to trail his fingers along arms and torsos. “So beautiful. You are absolutely the loveliest things I’ve ever seen, and you’re all mine.” Greg sucked in a quick breath as their eyes opened as one, brilliant quicksilver blue-green and deep steady slate-blue. “How on earth could I possibly be this lucky?” They didn’t speak, but the look in their eyes as they glanced at each other and then back at him spoke volumes. Greg felt his chest expand as he realised that they all apparently felt the same irredeemable luck.

John pushed himself away from the shelter of Sherlock’s arms, turning himself over on his back before slowly and deliberately drawing his legs up and letting his knees fall apart. He stretched his arms over his head and pushed back against the headboard, silently offering himself up in an intoxicatingly wanton display. Greg’s head swam as a deep growl forced its way out of his chest, but he held himself back with a considerable effort of will. John moaned and stretched again, his back bowing as he wriggled his exposed bottom enticingly in his direction.

Sherlock shifted to his knees as Greg’s head tilted, his eyes focused almost entirely on the delicate pink arsehole that was calling to him. His youngest lover reached out with trembling fingers to caress his shoulder, trailing his touch down his arm until he came to where his hand was resting on his leather-clad thigh. He wrapped his fingers around his wrist and tugged, ever-so-gently. Greg blinked himself back into awareness just in time to catch John writhing against the mattress, once again moaning like a two-penny whore as his hips tilted upward, beckoning to him. _  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won a piece of art from mitarashi8 in the Rupert Graves Birthday auction, and she drew up this lovely moment from this scene for me - please gaze upon its beauty with awe and lust! Oooooohh.... :)
> 
>  
> 
> [ A Little Leather Worship ](http://www.bitemebat.tumblr.com/post/124519226389/one-of-the-lots-that-i-won-from-the-rupert-graves)


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The afternoon finally winds down... After a bit more frolicking, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ye gods, but they do go on, don't they. Like sexy, sexy Energizer bunnies.
> 
> Hee! Please do comment, help to keep the muse focused. More to come, as always!
> 
> Kisses, my lovelies...

Out of deference to Sherlock’s obvious care for his leather outfit, Greg first shifted to his feet and carefully slithered out of his trousers, folding them neatly and placing them at the foot of the bed. Sherlock smiled briefly and licked his lips as Greg crawled back onto the mattress and over John’s waiting body, burying his nose behind his ear, breathing in the combined scent of his lover’s skin and the tang of the semen that he had left behind earlier. Greg moaned as strong legs were wrapped around his waist, pulling their groins together as John tilted his hips ups again. His cock was only slightly hard, but Greg’s was ready and eager for another round, his lover’s heat and scent proving too much for his libido to resist.

Not that he wanted to, not at all. There was another low moan as he thrust up against his belly, and Greg hastened to swallow up any additional noises as he took John’s mouth in a fierce kiss. He was barely even aware of the sound of a drawer opening and closing from somewhere nearby, but then he was very much aware of a small bottle being placed in his hand. He grasped at the lube and pulled away slightly, John’s eyes going wide with delight and his legs opening wider as he nodded eagerly.

Greg sat back on his heels as he dribbled the slick substance over his fingers, tucking them up under John’s bollocks. He circled the sweet little pucker briefly before beginning to probe gently, one finger working its way in with ease. John moaned again as he bore down on the intrusion, rocking his hips and biting down on his bottom lip. Greg hummed as Sherlock came up onto his knees next to him, drawing his face to the side and pulling him in for a kiss. He shoved in another finger as a long, elegant hand began to trail down his body, giving his stiffening prick a hearty tug. Greg once again felt his brain going a bit offline at all of the sensations, letting his body simply take over by instinct alone. There was another low cry as John’s arse clenched down around him and then opened up for yet another digit, his arse bouncing against the mattress in his haste to be prepared for his cock.

Greg sighed into Sherlock’s mouth as he withdrew from them both, nodding down at John and twirling his hand in a little ‘arse up’ gesture. He handed the bottle to Sherlock with a little wink, wiggling his own backside in a mute demand. Greg grinned as the breath seemed to catch in his youngest lover’s throat, nodding curtly as understanding dawned in his quicksilver eyes. Then he slicked his cock and brought it to where John was waiting on his hands and knees, his fine, strong thighs spread in anticipation. He pushed in without ceremony, grasping firm arse-cheeks and spreading them apart as he slid in smoothly.

Then he draped his torso over John’s back and spread his own legs, waiting. Sherlock’s fingers trembled only slightly as two were quickly worked into his body, meeting very little resistance due to their earlier application for this very same purpose. Greg sighed and then groaned as a third was quickly wriggled in next to its mates. He grunted quietly as Sherlock panted heavily from behind him, the tip of his cock glancing over the back of his thigh and leaving a smear of pre-come on his skin. He cast a quick look over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes briefly even as he pushed a bit deeper into John’s body. Sherlock blinked rapidly and then nodded again in silent acknowledgement, positioning himself just so.

Greg cursed quietly as he was breached, forcing a quick grunt out of John’s mouth as his body jerked, driving him forward. He gave himself a moment to adjust as Sherlock slid in to the root, using a firm grip on his shoulders to seat himself fully. Greg closed his eyes temporarily and marvelled at the feel of one lover wrapped around his cock and another throbbing deep within him. He shook himself out of it, knowing instinctively that if he allowed his thoughts to linger that he would quickly become overwhelmed.

Sherlock moved behind him, just a little experimental thrust that seemed to light up every nerve in his arse, making Greg shiver with delight. He pushed himself up, wordlessly directing John to go down on his elbows with nothing but a firm touch in between his shoulder blades. Sherlock nipped lightly at the nape of his neck before leaning his body back just so, leaving a bit of space between their bodies. Greg hummed as he realised that they were once again offering themselves to be used for his pleasure, to fuck and be fucked just as hard or as soft as he liked. John tilted his hips up as he settled his chest against the mattress, and Sherlock left his grip on his shoulders nice and loose, providing support, but not trying to direct him in any way.

“Perfect.” The word came out as little more than a growl, and Greg felt his face break out into a fierce grin as they both shuddered against him. He began to move, oh-so-slowly at first, sliding back onto Sherlock’s cock and thrusting deep into John’s body. “Oh fuck me, _yes_. So good for me…”

Fuck. After this, he might just pull out those damn leathers every blessed night. Although that would ruin it, wouldn’t it? No, the only reason that this was so fucking wonderful was because it wasn’t their everyday, because it was - ngh God - special. Besides, Greg knew that he wouldn’t be able to operate like this all the time, simply using them day after day with no regard for their own pleasure. He smirked internally. He couldn’t have his true sub getting jealous, now could he? Greg’s brain stuttered briefly as he pictured his pet, how he might look if he were watching right now, his face flushed with desire and envy. He would hold himself back, Greg knew - would stay where he was put until he was called for, his entire body straining with the effort of keeping still. And then when he was done with John and Sherlock, it would be their turn to watch as Mycroft kindled his spent cock back to life, as he would beg to be used, to be violated. Oh.

Greg shuddered as he heard his pet’s dulcet honey-soaked voice in his head, moving a little faster between his love and his baby, his heart jumping in his chest as they moaned in unison. Yes, he loved to make them come, every single one of his lovers, simply adored the look of languid bliss in their eyes as they lay spent beside him. But today was a gift that they were both offering to him, the opportunity to take them, to use their bodies with the express intent of pleasuring himself. So he took them up on their silent offer - how could he not? He ignored the quiet noises that they uttered, their little grunts and low moans in favour of the sounds of his cock driving into one body, his arse clenching around another, his bollocks swinging free and slapping against one and then the other until they started to pull up in anticipation.

Yes, oh yes, that lovely swirl of heat low in his belly, the impending rush of blood to his head, that sudden moment when there was absolutely no turning back. Greg groaned as he pushed forward deep and pulled John’s hips back into him hard, keeping himself firmly in place in his lover’s glorious tight heat as he started to come. He nodded his head curtly as Sherlock made a vague questioning noise from behind him, biting his lip hard as he twitched and shuddered. Yes, yes, he just kept holding on as his baby continued to fuck him through the crest of his orgasm and beyond, until Greg felt that his heart just may burst in his chest from the overload of sensation, but that was good, that was right and oh Jesus _fuck_ …

He finally gasped out an order for him to stop, although it took Sherlock a couple of wild thrusts before the edict made it into his brain. He shuffled backwards on his knees, both of them moaning with disappointment as his florid cock pulled free. Greg spared him a quick glance over his shoulder, his chest swelling with unbecoming pride as Sherlock’s desperate eyes met his, almost glazed over with pure need. John moaned and slapped at the mattress as Greg ground deeper into his body, simply feeling his way around and revelling in the slick mess that he had left behind.

He stayed like that until he felt his cock beginning to soften, threatening to slide free from his supplicant’s body due to the abundance of his release. Greg snorted softly in disbelief at the sensation - surely he hadn’t had that much left in him after coming so spectacularly all over their faces earlier…

_“Greg…”_

_“Love…”_

He shook himself out of his reverie as two wonderfully needy voices called to him. “Please…” Oh. Oh, what a gorgeous sound that was. He took in a deep breath and threw his head back as they assaulted his ears with their low whines, begging him in the sweetest but most insistent way they could. “Oh _please_ …” Greg sighed and bent over John’s prone form, pressing a kiss to his spine as his prick finally slipped free. Twisting his torso awkwardly, Sherlock fell upon him eagerly, snogging him nearly senseless before he was able to shuffle off to the side.

He crossed his legs as he settled down to watch, smiling encouragingly as they both looked to him, their faces flushed blotchy and pink, their hair matted down with sweat. Greg took a moment to run his fingers through his own damp hair and down his body, finally putting his hands on his knees as he nodded his agreement. Sherlock instantly moved forward, giving John a none-too-gentle shove to get him to turn over. The smaller man did so with a little groan of relief, pulling his legs back and beckoning Sherlock forward.

Greg wasn’t at all surprised that the consulting detective didn’t pause to admire his handiwork, after all, he was clearly a man on a mission. He watched with a little tilt to his head as Sherlock simply shoved his way in, not even bothering to take a moment before spreading his thighs and setting up a quick and efficient pace. John moaned and instantly grabbed hold of his own prodigiously leaking cock, tugging at himself steadily. They both definitely shared one goal, and that was to get off as quickly as possible. Greg almost chuckled, but he was still riding the aftermath of his own brain being bathed in hormones, his mind sharp and clear but his body humming with satisfaction. His lovers stared at each other as they fucked, mouths hanging open as they panted together, their bodies creaking and straining under the intensity of their congress. Greg tilted his head in the other direction and scooted just a bit closer, contemplating.

Then he reached out and trailed one hand up and down John’s arm, wiping up his sweat and licking it off the tips of his fingers before settling them over one golden-brown nipple. “Come, John. For Sherlock. For me.” He pinched viciously and grinned in triumph as the sharp burst of sensation shoved the good doctor over the edge. He let out a sharp cry that tapered off into a low warbling note that seemed to hang in the air above them as his prick jumped and splattered white ropes of semen all over his belly and chest.

Sherlock grimaced and continued to move with an intense desperation, not paying the least bit of attention to the man at his side. Until Greg shifted to his knees and took hold of his hair, abruptly jerking his head to the side and biting down hard on his neck. _“Ah!”_ Sherlock’s voice caught in an almost soundless sob, his torso frozen in place as his hips thrust hard, once, twice, his hands pulling John’s legs to him tight as he unloaded deep within him.  

Greg kept his teeth firmly in place as Sherlock trembled out the last of his lingering orgasm, tenderly licking at the flowering bruise before withdrawing. He settled back on his knees as they looked to him in wonder, both of them completely and perfectly wrecked, wrung quite dry. He ran his hands down his thighs as he looked back at them, feeling utterly...well, serene. Not wiped out, not really, although Greg was well aware that there was going to be a nap in his immediate future. Whatever this had been, it had definitely meant more to him than just a dirty shag. He actually felt at peace in his body and in his head in a way that he did not recall having experienced before.

John must have read something of it in his face, as he smiled up at him with a knowing glint in his eye. Sherlock too, saw whatever was passing between them, but made no comment beyond a slightly shaky smile of his own. He shuffled backwards, letting John’s legs fall as he slid free, but they both paused as Greg held up a hand. John huffed out a brief laugh as Greg’s eyes caressed his thoroughly despoiled body, his absolutely ravaged arsehole. Sherlock gasped out a low snarl of approval as the golden belly went taut, his abdominal muscles clenching and pushing out a bit of his release.

“Dirty thing.” They both startled slightly at the sound of Greg’s voice, seeing as how barely a word had been spoken since moving the action into the bedroom. He reached out to pet them both briefly before shoving at their arms. “Shower.” They whined as reluctant children being sent to the bath might, but Greg just shook his head at them fondly. He knew that neither one of them would happily settle down for a rest with nothing but a simple wipe-down.

He pinched at John’s bum as he rolled away from him and off the bed, landing on his feet with a little wince. Sherlock bit his lip and shuffled to the edge of the mattress on his knees, waiting for John to reach out for him before swinging his legs over. Then they both stood there, hand-in-hand, waiting for Greg to join them. He may have been a bit bouncier in his dismount than either of them, and John in particular rolled his eyes as he leant up against Sherlock’s side.

Greg hummed and pushed them in the direction of the bathroom, leaving them leaning up against the counter as he clambered into the tub and started up the shower. They watched him silently, both of them swaying slightly on their feet with their eyes glazed over, nearly too far gone already. “You first, love. You’re the muckiest.”

John cleared his throat as he rubbed his cheek against Sherlock’s upper arm, pulling away reluctantly. “And whose fault would that be, then?” His voice was thick and muzzy with fatigue, and Greg once again felt an unseemly amount of pride puffing up in his chest.

He took firm hold of John’s arm as he lifted one foot to step up into the tub and wobbled somewhat dangerously. “I was simply taking you up on your extremely generous offer, my love. And poor baby had no choice but to take you again. Not with you having been fucked open so thoroughly already…”

Sherlock moaned as he swayed, immediately settling down on the closed toilet to prevent his own legs from giving out on him. Greg surveyed them both fondly as he worked lather into John’s hair and down his body, paying special attention to his filthy arse. John grunted quietly as he slipped just the tips of a couple of soapy fingers in before crouching slightly and running the cloth in between his legs, wiping up any trails that had been left behind. John stumbled as he was pushed under the spray, lifting his face and letting the water cascade over him.

“Oh, but you are a gorgeous thing…” Greg bit his lip as John braced himself against the tiled wall, spreading his legs and tilting his arse back saucily. _“Nghk.”_ Sherlock rolled his eyes as John giggled sleepily, practically falling face-first into the wall until Greg manhandled him back out of the tub. “Dry that sexy body of yours off.” Greg paused as he debated whether or not to send him back to the bedroom on his own, but that thought somehow felt wrong in his head. John frowned as Greg reached out to pull Sherlock into the shower with him, looking back at the both of them longingly. Greg hesitated in lathering up his youngest lover’s body, feeling a twinge of uncertainty in his chest. “Would you like to stay until we’re finished?”

John nodded and once again leant up against the counter as he ran a towel over his body listlessly. Greg pondered as he tended to Sherlock’s hygiene, quickly coming to the conclusion that he must have affected their mental states a bit more than he initially realised. This was confirmed as Sherlock swayed toward him, his eyes somehow distant even as he focused on his face with an almost laser-like intensity. A swift shudder wracked John’s body and he immediately sat down on the toilet, reaching out to graze his fingers over Greg’s wet thigh.

Greg cleared his throat softly as he manoeuvred Sherlock under the spray. “I’m here, love. It’s all right - I’m still here.” John offered a shaky smile, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “That’s it…” Sherlock hummed vaguely as he was rinsed, allowing Greg to push and pull him in whichever direction he liked until he deemed him clean enough. John reached out to steady the younger man as he stepped out onto the bath mat, offering up his own towel for him to run lightly over his body.

After an extremely quick wash of his own, Greg shut off the water and turned to find a fluffy towel being offered up to him. He took it with a little grin as John regained his feet, once again tucking himself into the curve of Sherlock’s body. They watched silently as Greg dried off, leaning on each other to stay upright. Greg bit his lip and shook his head as they swayed toward him, still not entirely sure of how to feel about how the afternoon had progressed. It had definitely been successful to a fairly high degree, but what was he meant to do about it all?

He knew that John had experience with this sort of thing, but he obviously couldn’t ask him anything about it now… Hm. He pulled the damp towel that Sherlock was clutching like a security blanket out of his hands and tossed it down on the floor, quickly following it with his own. He tutted quietly - showering with the curtain open was definitely not the neatest method of going about it. But there was no way all three of them would have fit in that tub, and he had somehow known that pulling the curtain closed and leaving someone sitting outside by themselves would not have been the right thing to do.

Just like he seemed to know that John didn’t want to be on his own… Right then. He reached out to run his hands down his lovers’ backs, giving them both a little squeeze on the bum as he pushed gently. They wandered down the hallway as he guided them from behind, humming tunelessly as he ensured that nobody bounced off any walls or anything potentially embarrassing like that. Not that either of them would have noticed, as they were little more than the walking dead at the moment. Greg chuckled quietly as Sherlock tightened his hold on John’s waist as the smaller man’s head drooped suddenly.

He hurried to get the blankets pulled down properly before they both simply flopped onto the bed, sluggishly writhing around until they were situated on the pillows. Their eyes refused to close though, both of them watching intently as Greg picked up his leather trousers from the foot of the bed and placed them on top of the bureau instead. He found himself straightening this and that almost without thinking about it, getting distracted by the random detritus lying about. It wasn’t until he heard a low whine and an indistinct grumble from the bed that he shook himself out of it, murmuring soothing noises to his lovers as he climbed up into the bed next to them.

Greg curled up around Sherlock’s lanky body, reaching out to stroke John’s chest before pulling the blankets up. There was another low grumble and Greg suddenly found himself blinking up at the ceiling as he was pushed onto his back. He chuckled quietly as his youngest lover straddled him briefly in his journey to clamber over him and then stretched out next to him, tucking his curly head into his shoulder. John sighed as he rolled over and planted his head on Greg’s chest, wrapping his arm firmly around his waist and holding him tight.

“Well - alright then.” He smiled as they wriggled and writhed against him, settling themselves into their chosen spots quite solidly. “Better, my loves?” Sherlock hummed as John shivered again, turning his head and planting his nose deep into Greg’s armpit for just a moment. He blinked again before smiling broadly, tightening his hold on them. “That’s it. I’m not going anywhere - soak me all up.” A soft snort was the only response as their bodies slowly relaxed, melting into him. Greg listened to their steady breathing for a very long time before he let his own eyes close, remaining alert even behind the darkness of his own eyelids for a while longer, until the combined heat of their bodies against his finally lured him into slumber.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Equilibrium is restored to 221B - just in time to have it knocked askew by Mycroft...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have Mycroft entering the picture once again! Next chapter will be very exciting indeed... (And it's complete, so I just have to pace myself on getting it posted.)
> 
> Please do comment, keep the muse fed.
> 
> I adore you all! *mwah*

When Greg woke, it was to the sensation of eyes on him. He blinked up at the ceiling for a long while until it simply became too difficult to ignore the combined weight of his lovers’ scrutiny. He turned his head this way and that, smiling gently as they both blushed at him faintly. It seemed as though they had all slept like the dead, as nobody had shifted positions at all. Greg sat up slowly as they rolled away from him, raising a hand to his face and scrubbing vigorously. Both John and Sherlock groaned faintly as they sat up, stretching their limbs and twisting their necks from side to side.

Greg chuckled at them quietly. “How long have you two been awake? You didn’t have to wait for me, you know…”

John grimaced as something in his spine cracked. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“And we didn’t want to leave you.” Sherlock wrapped his arm around Greg’s waist with a low hum, nuzzling into his neck.

“Ah.” Greg chuckled again as John instantly pressed himself into his other side, apparently eager not to be left out of the post-nap lovefest. Sherlock let out a faint rumble of disgust as his stomach suddenly spoke up, vociferously declaring its current empty state as completely unacceptable. John’s responded in kind, leaving the smaller man giggling helplessly. “Oh, there we are. That’s why you were waiting for me. So I’d be forced to feed you and all.” He rolled his eyes as they both protested weakly, giving them each a gentle shove. “Go on, then. Somebody toss me a pair of pants and we’ll see what’s on hand.”

John made it to the bureau before Sherlock and rummaged through Greg’s drawer, pulling out a pair of loose boxers. The taller man scoffed almost inaudibly as he snatched them out of the good doctor’s hands, throwing them back in and triumphantly pulling out a rather flashy red pair of snug boxer briefs. He dangled them in front of John’s face for a moment, waiting for the little nod of concession before tossing them onto the bed. Greg shook his head and tutted quietly as he grabbed at them, but grinned as John blushed a very similar shade of bright red. He reached into his own drawer and pulled out the exact same model, giggling boisterously as Sherlock held up his own pair.

“Matching pants. Oh God, Greg… Did you ever think it would come to this?”

“Did you ever think that Sherlock Holmes, the great consulting detective, would be the one to purchase something so undeniably cutesy?”

Sherlock sighed. “Oh do hush. It was meant to be a joke, of course.” He snapped the elastic around his waist gently. “Although they’re surprisingly comfortable, wouldn’t you say?” He turned a pleasantly neutral expression on both of his lovers as they continued to giggle, wordlessly pulling on a pair of pyjama bottoms and a loose tee.

John took in a deep breath to calm himself and followed suit, cladding his body in something very similar to Sherlock’s outfit. Greg, of course, simply pulled the obnoxious pants up over his bum and sauntered out of the door and down the hall, headed for the kitchen. Once there, he began to open various cupboards and immediately lit upon something that he could easily prepare himself. He had never been a stellar cook, of course, but it was pretty difficult for someone with even his basic level of experience to fuck up something as simple as spaghetti.

He had started the water to boil and dumped the bottled sauce into a pot before John and Sherlock joined him, sitting down quietly at the table and watching his every move. Their constant attention on him wasn’t as grating as Greg thought it should be. No, he found it to be reassuring in some odd way, knowing that they were depending on him to care for them. He hummed and dug a little deeper into the fridge, letting out an exclamation of pleasure when he came across a package of Italian sausage.

Greg started those to sizzling in a pan, turning around as John cleared his throat vaguely. “I think that there might be some of that crusty bread left over from the other day… Some butter and garlic, too…”

Sherlock laughed quietly at John’s inquisitive tone, and Greg smiled indulgently. “Go on, then. No reason I should have to do this all by myself.” John sighed as if terribly put-upon, but obediently slid from his seat and went to retrieve all the items for a decent amount of garlic bread to split between the three of them.

Sherlock sat and watched the two of them in their complicated dance around the tiny kitchen, his chest feeling absurdly full at the sight. If only his traitorous stomach could be filled with such nonsensical if romantic claptrap… He found himself being pulled out of his mental reverie as a steaming plate was set down in front of him, Greg’s dark eyes crinkling with pleasure as Sherlock let out a sound of pure relief.

“Eat up, baby. Replenish your strength.” Sherlock smiled a little shakily as he twirled his fork into the mess of noodles, looking askance at John, who was more or less shovelling the food into his mouth as quickly as he could. Greg blinked at him and turned a nonplussed expression on his youngest lover before picking up his own fork with a shrug. “Guess it’s acceptable, then.”

They ate in silence, and Greg watched with interest as both of his lovers seemed to somehow wake up a bit more with each forkful of saucy goodness. It was more than shaking off the sleepiness, though, it was like they were slowly becoming more self-aware with each passing moment. John’s eyes began to wander around the kitchen, becoming distracted by the mess that Greg’s cooking had left behind. Sherlock’s spine straightened and he started to cast small glances at the sitting room, looking toward his violin and his laptop in equal measure. Greg breathed out a quiet sigh of relief.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love having them around him in moments like these, but feeling as though he were responsible for their very well-being was definitely becoming a bit much. He was relishing the idea of perhaps having a bit of time to himself, and realising that there were individual tasks that they seemed to want to do by themselves was nothing but heartening. He had obviously taken them on a little journey earlier in the day, but they were making their way back on their own, and thank God for that.

John let out a truly impressive belch, belatedly scrambling to get a hand over his mouth for modesty’s sake. Greg’s burst of loud laughter was simply spurred on by the affronted look on Sherlock’s face, and although John was extremely red about the cheeks, he soon broke down into his own set of giggles. Their combined merriment proved to be too much for Sherlock to ignore, as his lips twitched upward into a smile before dissolving into his own brand of unfairly sexy chuckles. He stood after a moment and thanked Greg for the meal by snogging him half-blind. Who knew that a lingering taste of garlic on the tongue could be quite that erotic?

Greg blew out a quick breath before John was on him for the same purpose, a wicked little gleam in his eye showing his competitive streak as he also attempted to snog the life out of his intended victim. Greg hummed as his little soldier pulled away, licking his lips of any remaining red sauce. They both smiled as the sweet strains of the violin came drifting in from the sitting room.

Greg sighed as he looked around, standing and gathering his plate. He blinked as it was whisked away from him, as John deposited it on the countertop and turned him toward the door to the hall. “Go read, take some time to yourself. I’ll do the tidying.”

“Are you sure, love? You know I don’t mind helping.”

“Of course I know, and yes, I’m sure.” John shrugged as he gathered up the other plates and set them down next to the sink as well. “I need some time to myself too, and I know you don’t really get it, but this is how I’d like to spend it.” He lifted his hands and made a shooing gesture.

Greg blinked in astonishment, but nodded, turning away and walking back into the bedroom. He sat down on the bed and listened to the odd little sonic pastiche that was his home, the faint clanking of dishes and the intermittent snatches of a stringed instrument being pushed to its limits. He felt strangely alone, but the feeling lasted only a moment as he settled back into pillows that still smelled of freshly shampooed hair. He stretched out his legs, running his foot over a spot on the sheet that was suspiciously crunchy.

He let the unbecoming pride and satisfaction wash over him as he considered the events of the afternoon, realising that he had yet to show this side of himself to Mycroft, and oh. Oh, just the thought of how his pet might react almost had him eager for more right at that moment. But no, now he had to wait, didn’t he? So Greg sighed and reached for his small stack of books under the bedside table, grabbing one at random and opening it up.

                                   **********                                  **********                                *********                              **********

Greg was roused from his half-asleep state as the sound of Mycroft’s feet on the stairs broke into his consciousness. He put aside the pulp novel that he had been ‘reading’ before he had dropped off, sitting up and ruffling his hair with one hand while he scratched at his belly with the other. He tilted his head slightly, realising that there was an intriguing sound of rustling accompanying his pet’s stride, piquing his curiosity.

He glanced aside between the wardrobe and the bureau, where his leather outfit was once again waiting for him. There was another aspect of curiosity to be assuaged, after all. How would Mycroft react to seeing him all wrapped up in leather and simply exuding machismo? If it would be anything like John and Sherlock had behaved, Greg was in for a very exciting evening indeed. The way they had bowed to his every whim, eagerly obeying his commands and even begging for more - oh. He had obviously taken the lead many times during their encounters, but there had been something different about the dynamic today.

Greg suspected that there had been a bit of discussion between his two lovers beforehand, a ploy on John’s part to help encourage his apparent inclination towards dominance to come out to play. He would have to think of a way to thank him later. Greg smirked to himself as he slipped from bed and started to don his leather shell once more, his newly-found inner Dom aligning easily with his outer form, a steady calm settling into his bones.

The intriguing rustling continued in the kitchen as Greg stealthily tip-toed down the hallway, the sounds interspersed with low noises of appreciation from John. Greg stopped just outside the entrance to the kitchen, peeking in and catching sight of Mycroft’s haul being spread out over the table. His pet had his back to him as he was unloading his groceries, and although John was facing the doorway, his attention was so focused on the piles of food that was being unpacked that Greg may as well have been invisible.

Sherlock entered from the sitting room, and although his eyes did widen slightly when he caught sight of Greg, he quickly diverted his gaze when his lover held one finger up to his lips in a bid for silence. He instead reached out for the enticing package securely wrapped in white butcher paper, obviously the roast for the next day’s dinner. John immediately turned and snatched the bundle away, tucking it close to his own chest.

“I absolutely draw the line on experiments involving my dinner, Sherlock. You keep away or I will find a way to keep you contained elsewhere until tomorrow afternoon.”

Both Mycroft and Sherlock snorted with a combination of derision and amusement, so similar in tone that Greg nearly chortled aloud. He swallowed his merriment as he continued to hang back, not even entirely sure what it was that he was waiting for. John looked between the two brothers, still holding the roast close, coddling it as one might a helpless child.

Mycroft shook his head and reached back into his bag, pulling out a smaller but similarly wrapped bundle. “Have no fear, John. Your dinner will be quite safe.” He handed the package to his brother with a small smirk, and Sherlock immediately fell upon it, cooing with delight as he unwrapped his gift.

Greg watched, his lips twitching up into a grin as John’s face twisted with revulsion, looking at the various spongy masses and lumps of flesh that were being revealed with deep suspicion. “Good God, My. What is that?”

“A distraction for my dear brother. A bribe, if you will, to keep him occupied and away from the roast that you’re still clutching to your chest like a substantial lump of gold.”

John glared at him ineffectually and hugged the roast a bit closer. “Yes, okay, that’s lovely, thank you so much for thinking ahead. But what _is_ it?”

“Mm. Just various bits and bobs, I believe. I simply asked for some of the viscera that they would be discarding at the close of the day. They seemed to be rather happy to be rid of it.” The elder Holmes looked at his brother with a little twinkle in his eye. “Identifying as well as dissecting and experimenting should keep you entertained for the majority of the evening, brother mine.”

Sherlock blushed faintly, fighting to disguise his joy and delight at being handed such a grotesque prize. “If they had not damaged the organs so badly, identification would not be an issue.”

“Good thing for you that they did, then. Just the sort of thing that you love, sweetheart. Putting together a random meat puzzle.” John shuddered delicately as he finally put the roast aside, making a point to place it as far from Sherlock’s reach as possible. _“Urgh.”_

Sherlock carefully re-wrapped his present, kicking gently at another tote still on the floor. It clanked faintly as it shifted. “What’s this, then?”

Mycroft ducked down and started to pull out cookware, roasting pans and pots of varying sizes. Greg frowned from his not-so-secret hiding place, feeling his eyebrows start to pull down. John’s confusion was evident as he tilted his head.

“We aren’t savages, My. Believe it or not, we do have our own set of pots and pans.”

Greg suddenly found himself feeling unaccountably angry as Mycroft’s head tilted in that overly superior manner of his. “Ah, of course you do. But if I may make one point - would these be the same set that you had in stock while this kitchen was being used as a highly questionable laboratory?”

Sherlock sputtered in indignation. “I always sanitised whatever equipment I used very thoroughly when the experiments were concluded. Everything in here is perfectly safe for food preparation and consumption.”

“I’m sure that you will forgive me if I don’t quite trust your housecleaning skills, brother mine. I did grow up with you, after all, and was subjected to the horror show that you called your bedroom far too often.”

“Nobody has been negatively affected by any of my past activity in this kitchen, brother dearest.”

Mycroft smiled smugly. “Oh no, just a missing day or two here and there. No unfortunate reactions at all.”

Sherlock scowled deeply as John sighed and pulled out their own roasting pan, squinting at it suspiciously. He scratched idly at a spot that he had never been able to scrub away to his satisfaction, a splotch that was clearly some kind of adverse chemical reaction, now that he knew what he was looking for.

“Oh, for God’s sake. Fine.” John sighed again. “You might as well just take this and the others downstairs for your lab, Sherlock. We’ll get a new set.” His lips twisted up in thought. “Been meaning to get some new towels, too. A domestic shopping trip - Greg will be thrilled.”  

Mycroft cleared his throat. “Oh, but that will not be at all necessary, John. You may keep these. I’ve been meaning to get a new set myself.”

The anger that had slowly been building in Greg’s chest suddenly bloomed into something hot and heavy, and he felt his teeth grinding together subtly as he stepped up close to his pet’s back and grasped the nape of his neck firmly. He hummed as Mycroft gave out an inelegant squawk, his body stiffening and freezing under Greg’s hand. Sherlock started to grin, but his merriment was quickly wiped away as he caught the look of true annoyance on his lover’s face, and he instead nearly turned tail to retreat into his lab. But he had yet to see Mycroft’s reaction to Greg’s outfit, so he steeled himself to watch for just a bit longer. John’s eyes were wide as his mouth hung open slightly, clearly startled at Greg’s abrupt entrance.

“Mycroft Holmes. Do you think that I cannot provide for my own family? What on earth makes you think that we would even want your cast-offs?”

Mycroft stammered uncertainly as he squirmed, unconsciously fighting to free himself. “N-no, Gregory, no. I never intended, I never meant - honestly, that abhorrent thought never entered my mind. I simply wished to help…”

Greg squeezed a bit harder as Mycroft attempted to turn his head. “Help? Oh, I see. Did it make you feel good, to think that we would somehow be impressed by your largesse?” He snarled low in his pet’s ear. “We aren't some poor unfortunates that you can appease with a few paltry gifts, Mr. Holmes.” Greg winked at John over Mycroft’s shoulder, relaxing into his simmering anger, once again allowing himself to react to the submission that he was feeling in the long body pressed up to his. To react, to accept, to let his own power-hungry beast take residence in his head and heart. Yes, it was time for a lesson, wasn’t it? Oh yes. He slowly released his harsh grip, allowing his pet to turn and take him in. Greg placed his hands on his hips and watched impassively as Mycroft’s face went utterly white and then flushed bright pink, as his legs wobbled dangerously and he reached out to support himself against the table. “Perhaps it's time that I taught you your place, my darling pet."

Sherlock nearly giggled as his brother swayed on his feet, as he struggled to keep himself from simply falling to his knees in front of their mutual lover. It was almost just as he had imagined it would be, except for the almost frightening look of casual anger on Greg’s face and the meek slope of his brother’s shoulders. John didn’t seem to be breathing at all as he clutched at the table, his eyes jumping between Greg and Mycroft in a watchful attitude of wariness.

Greg finally shook his head with an expression of sincere disappointment on his face. “Upstairs with you. Now.”

Mycroft nodded shakily and disappeared, silently taking the attic stairs two at a time, working the buttons on his waistcoat loose with one hand at the same time. John and Sherlock stared at their silver-haired lover in astonishment, neither of them wanting to be the first one to speak and possibly incur his wrath. He quirked a half-smile at the both of them, but his eyes were still hard and dark, so they maintained their silence.

“Right. Expect I’ll be occupied the rest of the evening. Sherlock, you will help John put away the groceries before you sequester yourself in your lab with your new gift. Take the old cookware and whatnot down with you. John, we will use Mycroft’s second-hand shit for tomorrow’s meal, but after that, I don’t care what you do with it. Sherlock can have it, or we can donate it to someone who truly needs it. You know which I would prefer. You and I will go shopping some time next week, we’ll make a bloody holiday out of it or something. We’ll be stupidly cute and domestic and take lunch while holding hands or whatever. Make sure to pass by lots of cameras, make Mr. British Government sick with envy. I love you both and I will see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

He tweaked the zip on his jacket with a saucy wink, blowing kisses at both of them before turning and making his own journey up the stairs. They both ducked their heads out of the doorway to watch as he ascended, a little taken aback both by Greg’s terse speech and his abrupt exit. Sherlock looked to John in mute amazement, frowning as the smaller man started to giggle madly.

“Your dear brother is going to get the shit beat out of him.”

“Well, I can’t say that it doesn’t serve him right, but I’m not entirely sure that such a punishment is appropriate for the level of his offence.”

John sidled up to the dark-haired man with the questionable roasting pan in his hands, holding it out until Sherlock carefully deposited his package of guts and God only knew what in it before taking it from him. “Trust in Greg, sweetheart. Yeah, he’s still feeling his way around the whole Domming thing, but he has more of an instinct about it than he realises. He won’t do anything that Mycroft doesn’t explicitly consent to.” He ran his hand down his back soothingly. “You know how important that is to both of us.”

“Yes, John. I do know. But…” Sherlock took in a deep breath. “I’m not certain that Mycroft himself knows where his limits are in regards to Greg. He may allow him to push him too hard without realising it.” He hesitated, his concern showing clearly on his face. “He’s come so far, made such progress. He’s more like the big brother that I remember now. I don’t want him to go back, to become the Iceman again.” John’s eyes welled up slightly as Sherlock’s bottom lip trembled minutely. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“You won’t. Oh God, sweetheart, you won’t. Neither Greg nor I will allow that to happen.” John hesitated as he wiped his eyes, blinking rapidly. “But you do understand that this is something that your brother needs, don’t you? He needs Greg to take control, to correct him when he’s done something wrong. It’s integral to who he is, love. Up until this point, I don’t think Greg was entirely comfortable with giving him that.” John smiled up at Sherlock’s tremulous nod. “I think that our little romp this afternoon may have awakened that aspect of him a bit. We’ll just have to wait until tomorrow to see if our own lessons took effect, hm?”

Sherlock chuckled quietly. “Mycroft is in for a treat either way.”

“Oh, yes, love. Now. These carrots are starting to wilt. Put down your meat puzzle for the moment and let’s do what Greg told us to do like the obedient little tarts we are. Your brother may enjoy being tanned to within an inch of his life, but I’d rather not risk the same happening to me. I think that if their little experiment up there produces positive results, our dear Detective Inspector may be a bit bossier than usual for the next fortnight or so. He’ll be riding a wave of his own power - the testosterone will be just oozing out of him.”

The younger Holmes rolled his eyes dramatically as he put down his pan of guts and reached for the produce, heading for the fridge. “Oh, how perfectly lovely. As if I don’t have to deal with enough of that on a daily basis from you… I wonder if Mycroft will be able to provide me with any of his fabricated cases for a month or so.”

John growled and swiftly caught up to him, pinching his bum quite solidly. “Don’t you _dare_ skive off and leave me to deal with him on my own, you little shit.” Sherlock giggled and made a lunge for the undefended roast, making the smaller man grab him around the waist and damn near lift him off his feet as he pulled him away from the hunk of meat. They tussled good-naturedly for a moment or two, both of them deliberately distracting themselves from pondering what might be happening over their heads at that exact moment.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg bestows Mycroft's lesson...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delving a bit deeper into the BDSM elements here, but nothing all that intense. I do hope you all enjoy. I've had this bit written up for a while, but I haven't started the next chapter yet, so I'm not sure how long it will be before the next installation. But it will happen, I can guarantee you that! 
> 
> Please do comment, keep the muse fed. She withers without your kind words...

Greg stepped into the attic room and found Mycroft just as he expected him, naked and kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed. He silently closed the door behind him and simply stood there, regarding his supplicant with interest. Mycroft's eyes darted up to meet his for a brief second and then they dropped back to a random spot on the carpet in front of him. After a long moment, his pet shifted, placing his hands on the floor and lifting himself up on his knees. When there was no immediate objection to his movement, Mycroft quietly crawled over to him, his bearing meek, but not at all ashamed, his back straight and shoulders firm.

Greg tilted his head as he followed the motion with his eyes, waiting for the unease to start to boil in his gut, anticipating the wave of shame and guilt that would inevitably wash over him. But it didn't come. Instead he just stood and calmly watched as Mycroft crawled to his feet and bent his head, laying reverent kisses on the toes of his boots. A visible shudder ran from the small of his pet's back all the way up, and Greg felt himself stiffen rather suddenly in his leather trousers. He hadn't asked this of him, hadn't even expected it, but oh what it was doing to him... And Mycroft knew it. Of course he did. But that wasn't why he was doing it, Greg could see that quite clearly. He was prostrating himself in front of him because he wanted to, because he needed to. And although it sometimes took Greg a while to realise his partners' needs, once he saw that, once he felt that, of course he would never deny any of them anything that they may require of him.

"Enough." Rather like an affectionate dog, Mycroft bumped his head gently against Greg's shins before withdrawing back to his resting position in front of him, his eyes focused somewhere around his lover's knees. "Pet. I think that perhaps I have given you a little too much leeway up to this point." Greg pursed his lips as a vibrant blush suddenly bloomed over Mycroft's cheeks and down his chest. "You've been patient with me, maybe more than I've deserved. You need certain things from me, don't you? Things that perhaps I wasn't entirely comfortable with giving, and that you weren't comfortable enough to demand."

"I would never demand anything of you, Gregory."

"No. No, you wouldn't. But as I have mentioned before, you can ask." Greg reached down and pinched his chin in thumb and forefinger, forcing Mycroft's head up to look deep into his eyes. "From this point forward, you _will_ ask. You understand me, pet?"

Mycroft's chest hitched with each short breath that he pulled in through his nose. "Yes, Gregory."

"I'm not like you or your brother. I can't read minds. I won't be able to spot a scuff on your shoe and understand that means that you need me to beat the stuffing out of you that night." Greg tightened his grip as Mycroft shuddered violently, his eyes fluttering as his cheeks absolutely burned. "I think that after tonight, however, you may be satisfied for a while. You see, pet, I think it's time I showed you your proper place." Mycroft's breath hitched again as Greg narrowed his eyes and dug his fingers more firmly into his cheeks, holding him fast. "You don't live in this flat, Mycroft. You are to make no decisions regarding this household. _None_. You do what I tell you to, and to a lesser degree, what John tells you to, although you will clear it with me first. While you are here, in Baker Street, you are the lowest peg on the ladder."

Mycroft took in a shaky breath as his head twitched in an subconscious nodding gesture. "Y-yes, Gregory. Of course. I am very sorry for presuming..."

"I know, pet. I know that you understand what you did wrong, but I think that I may need to reinforce the lesson, don't you? Not that I don't know that you learn very quickly from your mistakes, but it doesn't hurt to make sure." Greg smiled slowly. "Hurt _me_ , anyway."

_"Oh."_

Greg ignored Mycroft's barely audible exhalation as he released him and straightened his posture, absurdly pleased with the marks that his fingers had left behind on his pet's face. He nudged one of his knees with his boot. "Take these off for me." Mycroft clenched his hands into fists briefly and then he bent to his task, carefully unlacing his boots and pulling them and his socks off, setting them aside with a gentle reverence. That task completed, he once again resumed his resting position, keeping his eyes on Greg's feet as he wiggled his toes into the plush carpeting. "On your feet." Mycroft rose smoothly, his every movement filled with elegance and grace. Greg smiled softly as he reached out to run his fingers over his clavicle and down his sternum and even lower, tapping against the metal of the cock-cage briefly. Mycroft's breath gusted out, the sweetness of it washing over Greg's face. But he kept his silence, only the twitching of his fingers against his naked thighs revealing his anxiety. "Good, pet."

"Th-thank you, Gregory."

"Hush." Mycroft obediently shut his mouth, his teeth digging into his bottom lip briefly. "In the toy box - those straps for under the bed. Get them out and I'll help you set them up." His pet's breath once more caught in his throat, but he nodded and obeyed with alacrity, shifting certain items with care as he dug the restraints out of the trunk at the foot of the bed. Working in silence, he adjusted the main strap, the one that would be positioned between the mattress and the divan, attaching the leads that would hold the assorted cuffs.

Greg helped him to arrange it, nodding with approval as Mycroft swiftly hooked up the neoprene cuffs to all of the dangling straps and then knelt on the bed and awaited further instruction. "Excellent, pet. I want you on your belly, with that lovely arse tilted up nice and high. Spread those creamy thighs of yours wide. Make sure that your head is in a comfortable position, because I'm going to be tying you down nice and tight."

Mycroft bit his lip against an unbecoming squeal as he moved to comply, piling a couple of pillows up in the middle of the bed and prostrating himself over them. After all, this was to be a punishment, and if Gregory knew just how much this whole scene was already thrilling him right down to his core, the atmosphere would no doubt change quite dramatically. He shifted and wriggled, making sure that his arse was clearly on display, and then tucked another pillow under his head before spreading his legs open wide and stretching his arms to the side of his head.

He had no warning as Gregory stepped closer to the bed and smacked his upturned arse hard, once, twice, oh God, three times. Mycroft grunted quietly and buried his face in the pillow to hide his burning cheeks. Not a word was spoken as his glorious captor re-positioned his limbs to his liking, wrapping the soft quick-release cuffs around wrist and ankle and upper thigh, firmly ratcheting the straps so that he was held down, held open, quite securely. He felt his body give a little shiver and smiled to himself as broad fingers traced delicately up his inner thigh and tweaked at his bollocks.

"Colour, pet?"

"Green, Gregory." _Bright fucking emerald green, my love._

Gregory chuckled, almost as if he had heard Mycroft's inner voice in his own head. "I'm going to gag you. Don't forget your hand signals, all right?"

"Of course not, Gregory."

There was a quiet hum and the sound of items being shuffled and shifted in the toy box, the indistinct impression of particular props being placed on the mattress in between his feet. Mycroft couldn't tell what any of it was, and found himself nearly insensate from nothing but the anticipation alone. Then Gregory stepped back to the head of the bed, placing the ball of the gag between his lips with no further comment. Mycroft swallowed hastily, clearing his mouth of excess saliva before the straps were pulled snug. Gregory quirked one eyebrow at him, and Mycroft blinked and wriggled slightly, placing his cheek on the pillow and turning one bound hand into a thumbs-up.

Greg nodded with satisfaction and ran his fingers up and down the sides of his leather jacket briefly, finally pinching the zip and drawing it down slowly. Mycroft's chest hitched as the supple material was shrugged off of Gregory's broad shoulders, and the silver-haired man reached out to drape it over the bedpost by his head. If he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, he could just catch the luscious scent of it, something vaguely dark and dangerous. Greg's mouth twitched as he looked down at him, holding his arms out over his head and then down behind his back, obviously stretching as a prelude to some unknown physical activity to come.

Then he opened the drawer in the bedside table and drew out a bottle of lube, squeezing a generous amount out onto his fingers with a little frown of concentration between his brows. Mycroft's eyes went wide with delight and he fought against his restraints briefly, attempting to hoist his rump up even higher for his lover's thick fingers. Greg snarled quietly and smacked him again, grabbing at one arse-cheek hard before it had even stopped jiggling. His slicked-up fingers barely even circled the dainty pink pucker before one was being shoved in deep, another following quickly thereafter. Mycroft let out a muffled yelp as his back bowed involuntarily, but Greg didn't even pause, working him open quite efficiently and rather ruthlessly.

Mycroft squeezed his eyes shut as his body was jolted mercilessly, pondering just what his lover may have in store for him. Why was he opening him like this now? Surely he didn't want to _start_ with fucking him - that wasn't the way this sort of thing was usually done. No, first came the torment, the pain, so that Mycroft wouldn't have anything left in him to fight back with once he was mounted. But then, that had been the pattern with those other men, the ones who had violated his body, but who had never touched his heart -  the ones who didn't matter any more. No, Gregory was different, blessedly so - he was apparently even different in the manner in which he exacted his punishments.

The bound man tensed slightly as his lover's fingers were abruptly removed and something else put in their place, a cool heavy weight probing at his entrance. Ah, his plug - the one that Gregory had purchased for him, the one that fit him so well, keeping him open and yet not over-stimulated. Again, there was no hesitation as Gregory pushed at the base steadily, twisting and shoving just a touch harder until the widest bit had passed through and Mycroft's arse had swallowed the rest of it up. He hummed with satisfaction and stayed down there for a while, running his thumbs between the flat base and Mycroft's skin, pulling and prodding at his sensitive rim as the rest of his fingers dug into the muscles of his pet's arse hard.

Mycroft struggled to keep his noises to a minimum, his teeth clenching down on the small red rubber ball in his mouth as he moaned throatily. Greg sighed and drew away, only to bestow another stinging slap down on one cheek and then the other before aiming carefully between, landing a blow that jolted the plug and made Mycroft's bollocks tingle almost unpleasantly. He thrashed his head from side to side briefly, keeping his eyes fixed on Gregory's leather jacket, the only bit of his lover that he could see, the only part of him that he could ground himself to.

The long body tensed again as Greg's body heat drifted away, drifted downward, toward the pile of goodies that had been retrieved from the toy box and left on the mattress between his spread legs. Mycroft's head spun as he calculated what he knew of his lover and compared that to the inventory of implements that had been in the trunk when he had first brought it here. Which would he choose? How would he determine the level of punishment that Mycroft deserved? After all, it had been a rather small infraction, mere thoughtlessness, not anything malicious or deliberately hurtful on his part. Mycroft nearly giggled - after all, this whole scene was simply Gregory making a point, wasn't it?

Mycroft flinched at the sudden and rather thwunky sound of wood hitting Gregory's palm, and a deeply satisfied hum from the man himself. Oh, God - it was the paddle. Not that trifling lightweight table-tennis one, either, oh no. No, that had been the sound of a good half-inch of solid wood, the one that was at least a foot long, not counting the handle, of course. Well, shit. So _not_ just an object lesson, then. Another solid thwack, and Gregory's hum of contemplation turned into a pleased sound of assent. Mycroft forced himself to relax as the wood came to rest on the small of his back, as it was bounced gently on the upturned globes of his arse and down over his thighs. The little questing taps turned into something just a bit more forceful but still relatively gentle, a clear exploration on Gregory's part as he felt out the heft of the wood in his hand and the result of the small impacts on Mycroft's body.

"Pet."

The curt tone of command in Gregory's voice made a swift thrill course through his body, gooseflesh rippling from the small of Mycroft's back all the way up to the top of his scalp. He blinked rapidly and forced himself to take steady breaths in through his nose, once again fixing his gaze on his lover's leather jacket. He took in another deep breath, and then he deliberately turned one hand into a thumbs-up. The strike came quickly after Mycroft's clear assent to the act, a ringing blow laid flat across both cheeks, glancing incidentally off the base of the metal plug. Mycroft let out a muffled grunt that was followed by a low moan, finding the sensation almost ridiculously blissful. The solid thud of the wood hitting his body accompanied by the stinging of his flesh and the tiny jolt of pleasure that the plug had delivered to his prostate was quite the deadly combination - and the mere fact that it was Gregory who had wielded the blow... Oh, just that was enough to send him skidding into a hazy, happy, hormone-ridden cloud.

But then, of course, he did it again. And again. Each successive strike was just a touch stronger, the impact of the solid wood driving a harsh grunt out of Mycroft's mouth each time. It wasn't so much the pain, after all, that had started to fade into the background almost immediately, just as soon as his flesh had been properly warmed up. It was that damned plug that kept dragging him up out of the blissful haze of endorphins, bringing him back into his body with a little shiver every time it was driven deeper into him. How odd it was that it was the pleasure that was distracting him more than the pain - how odd that none of his previous partners had thought to employ such a simple tactic in order to really send him off balance. Mycroft had always been able to tune out the majority of their beatings, employing his stellar control over his own body in order to ignore the canings and whippings and in one rather surprising session, the wire hanger. That one nearly _had_ made him crack, and it had taken a good fortnight at least before the welts had even started to fade.

Mycroft shook himself out of his unpleasant remembrances as Gregory bent over him, running the flat of one palm over skin that was absolutely radiating with heat. "Oh, pet..." Mycroft groaned aloud, wriggling his bum under his lover's soft caresses. "Hush. I'm not done with you just yet." He hummed quietly as the mattress trembled violently underneath his pet, as Mycroft's body seized, tugging on his restraints involuntarily. Still humming tunelessly, Gregory ran the flat of the paddle down his spine, up over his arse and down his legs before moving it up again, using the implement to aimlessly pat at his pet's body. There were a few more gentle bounces on the fleshiest parts of his arse, another couple of taps on the base of the plug, and when Mycroft let out an anguished whimper at the sheer deliciousness of it, Gregory abruptly pulled away.

He made sure that Mycroft knew that the paddle was being stored away, the sound of items being shifted and the clunk of the wood hitting the side of the toy box quite unmistakable to his ears. Gregory spent a little time running his fingers up and down Mycroft's long legs, from side to side, occasionally digging in his nails and scraping at his flesh gently. Then his body heat shifted away slightly, and Mycroft felt something else being lifted from the mattress between his feet and a heady rush of anticipation flooded his system, even though he was already floating quite pleasantly. Mycroft tried to relax his body, but it steadfastly refused to obey his silent commands, holding itself stiff and tight, waiting for the next blow to fall.

_Vwip vwip vwipvwipvwip..._

Oh, so it was to be the jellyfish. Well, that was what Mycroft called it, anyway - a small flogger consisting of dozens of extremely thin rubber bands, it delivered more of a sting than anything else. In a way, it could be a little more imposing than a lot of the thuddier kinds of implements, since it tended to inflict more external damage than anything else. You could only go so far with the paddle, could only hit in so many places for fear of breaking bone or possibly damaging internal organs. This, well, this could be laid down on any part of his skin, and the worst that may happen would be an abrasion or two. It was all too easy to take it too far, and Mycroft had once been witness to someone's skin splitting open under a particularly vicious strike with a very similar tool. Neither the sub nor the Dom had been immediately aware of the wound, and quite a bit of blood had gone flying about the room before that scene had been brought to a definitive end.

Once again, Gregory seemed to be testing it on his own hand, the characteristic sound of the tiny tails flying through the air coming to an abrupt halt as they smacked against skin. Mycroft tilted his head at the quiet hum that indicated that his lover was debating, and then that whirring sound started up again, continuing without interruption. He realised that he was twirling it in a continuous motion, apparently somewhat entranced by the lovely noise that it made as it whipped through the air. Mycroft almost didn't feel it at first, and he realised that Gregory was testing his own proficiency with the flogger, bringing it in a little closer each time as he continued to flick it in a circle, dropping it lower as he whipped it across the backs of his thighs.

The bound man let out a surprised hiss of breath through his nose as the tips of the tails flickered over his arse, his inflamed flesh stinging almost unbearably in their wake. Another quiet hum of appreciation was Mycroft's only warning, as Gregory started to lay down more insistent blows, whipping the flogger over his ribs and back down to his thighs before concentrating his efforts on the flesh that was already almost unbearably tender. Mycroft moaned through his gag and felt his body positively melting into the pillows that were holding him up, until he could barely even remember his own name. The only name that was going through his head was Gregory's, as he set up a silent mantra of praise and adoration, a voiceless benediction to the man that he loved with his entire being.

Gregory was already proving to be quite the natural at this sort of thing, as he started to get rather creative with the implement, giving his wrist a little twist that made all of the tails wind together like a thick braid, lashing it down on Mycroft's tender arse-cheeks with a wicked snap. His strikes became more accurate as well, as he began to pinpoint that inviting metal plug buried deep in his pet's arse, once again driving it further into his body and causing high-pitched whines to push out through his nose. The hits on the plug were also placed quite deliberately to strike incidentally at Mycroft's bollocks, not overly harsh, but quite definitely stinging rather unpleasantly.

After a particularly sharp strike that invoked Mycroft to let out a sincerely startled but muffled yelp, Gregory withdrew, tossing the jellyfish back into the toy box with a little sigh. He swiftly went to his pet's side and ran his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, caressing his neck gently. "Bit much, pet?" Mycroft heaved a breath out through his nose and shook his head, turning one hand into a shaky thumbs-up. Greg shook his own head ruefully and bent to place a light kiss on his cheek. "That's all right, think I've had enough of that for now anyway." He turned away as Mycroft let out a muffled sigh, climbing up onto the bed in between his legs.

He let out a deeply satisfied sound as he laid his palms on the backs of Mycroft's thighs, running them up until he was cupping his arse in both hands. Mycroft let out another squeak of surprise as the hands clamped down hard. "So hot, Jesus." Greg hummed as he bent down, laying the side of his face on one arse-cheek. He rubbed into it gently before kissing it reverently. "So tender." He giggled quietly. "Your arse is like a fine steak, my love. I feel as though it might simply melt in my mouth..." Giggling again, he put his words to the test, opening his mouth wide and biting down gently. Mycroft moaned and stiffened abruptly, but even that could not induce the muscles in his arse to tighten - they had been worked over far too thoroughly.

"Jesus. Fucking you now would be like masturbating with some kind of, of...I dunno... A jelly-filled sex dummy, I guess. You've got absolutely nothing in you - there'd be no resistance at all." Greg snorted, leaning over to lay gentle kisses down Mycroft's spine, rutting delicately into him. "No fun in that." He continued to kiss his exposed flesh, running his tongue over some of the more obviously damaged spots. He came back to his arse time and time again, subtly manipulating the plug buried deep as he nuzzled and licked and kissed at his pet's burning cheeks. "Oh, but pet - the things you do to me. Jesus, I almost can't resist." Mycroft squirmed as he heard the creak of leather behind him, the sound of a zip being drawn down slowly. Gregory moaned quietly as Mycroft attempted to push his arse up a bit higher in an overt invitation.

"Oh, but that in't going to happen, my sweet pet. You'd like it too much. You’re being punished, remember?" Mycroft thrashed slightly and made some kind of muffled but undeniably snarky remark, causing Greg to laugh at him gently. He carefully laid his body down over his again, nuzzling into his neck and biting down on his marks. Mycroft could feel his cock pressing stiff and bare against the tender flesh of his arse, and he pushed up into him insistently. Gregory cooed in his ear quietly, rubbing against him firmly. "No, my love. No." He reached for the bottle of lube on the bedside table, hoisting himself upright, settling back down between Mycroft's thighs.

His pet let out an agonised whine at the click of the lid, writhing at the sound of Gregory's cock being liberally slicked up, jumping slightly as the bottle was tossed onto the mattress at his side. Greg groaned loudly as he started to move his hand over himself, the sound quite unmistakable, that heady _slapslapslap_ of skin on skin, his little grunts of pleasure, the distinct sound of breath being rhythmically sucked in through his nose and pushed from his mouth. Mycroft squirmed a bit harder, a low-grade panic beginning to build in his belly. This wasn't right, it wasn't right at all. He should be fucking _him_ , not his fist, he should be using him, taking his pleasure from him - that was his purpose, after all.

He whined a little louder and started to struggle in earnest, pulling as hard against his restraints as he was able, letting out a sharp gasp as Gregory's free hand came down on his arse hard and clenched even harder, as he bent over his prone body slightly. "Hah. No, Mycroft. You keep still, like a good little pet. Ah, oh Christ... Maybe I'll l-let you have a taste after I... _nghk_ \- oh God!"

Mycroft let out a sincere sob of regret as he felt the hot splashes of semen rain down on his inflamed flesh, as Gregory moaned quietly and leant further over his defenceless body, milking himself so that it all dripped down in the small of his back and over the globes of his arse. He dabbled his fingers in it delicately as he regained his breath, going up on his knees to press gentle kisses to his pet's unsullied skin. With his clean hand he unsnapped the straps on the ball-gag, pulling it out of Mycroft's mouth as he pushed at it with his tongue. He smacked his lips together lightly and refused to meet Gregory's eyes as he loomed over him.

Greg put his dirty fingers in front of his mouth and smiled down at him indulgently. "Whaddya say, pet? Clean me up?"

"No." Mycroft winced slightly at his overly-petulant tone, all too aware of sounding like nothing more than a sulky teenager.

 _"Aww, pet..."_ Gregory wiggled his fingers slightly, his smile widening. Mycroft glared ineffectually and turned his head away with a little huff. "Oh, all right. Give me just a moment, then."

He rolled off the mattress in the direction of the tiny toilet, the sound of running water quickly starting up. Mycroft sighed as he watched him returning, his hands full of damp flannels. The first was nice and warm, and Gregory took gentle care to wipe away his lingering mess. The other two were ice-cold, and Mycroft bit back on a sharp yelp as they were laid down on his inflamed arse-cheeks. Greg grinned down at him as he ran his fingers through his hair. "Thought they might help to bring the swelling down a bit."

Mycroft smiled at Gregory shakily as he reached up to undo the wrist cuffs, flexing his arms briefly before tucking them under the pillow under his cheek. Gregory made a circuit of the bed, releasing the rest of the cuffs and tucking them under the mattress to keep them from dangling underfoot. Mycroft sighed as his limbs were gently rearranged into something resembling a natural posture, as the now warm flannels were lifted gently and a tentative poke delivered to one tender arse-cheek. He giggled quietly, the hormones raging through his blood quite enough to make any lingering discomfort quite inconsequential.

Gregory hummed and reached down and between, rotating the plug with the intent to remove it. Mycroft pushed himself up on his elbows and shook his head as the blood rushed back into it. "Leave it." He shook his head again at Gregory's silent question, his head tilted and one eyebrow raised. "Please, my love."

Greg frowned slightly, but acquiesced, merely gathering up the random cloths and other detritus before retreating to the bathroom once more. When he returned, it was to find Mycroft curled up on his side and shivering slightly. He eyed his reddened backside with a little wince, and pulled out the blanket before crossing to the other side of the bed, crawling in at his front after stripping himself out of the leather trousers. He hummed low as Mycroft wriggled slightly, tucking himself into the curve of his body, burrowing his face into his chest. Greg threw the blanket over both of them and laid back, letting his pet arrange himself comfortably however he chose.

They both sighed heavily as they settled, and Greg reached up to pet his hair, the only part of him that he felt comfortable touching, for fear of brushing against something sensitive and inflamed. "All right, then?"

Mycroft hummed, languidly writhing into him further. "Better than. You are wonderful, Gregory."

Greg sputtered incomprehensibly. "I just tanned the hell out of you, pet. In what way is that wonderful?"

"Can't explain. Can't be bothered to, honestly. You were magnificent."

"Oh?"

Mycroft giggled slightly at the forced casualness of his tone, obviously fishing for compliments or just feedback. "You're a natural, my love. Knew just where to hit, knew when to stop. Although that last bit..."

Greg snorted bemusedly. "Oh, I know. I'm a right bastard. I was horribly mean to you, wasn't I? Denying you a good hard fuck and all." He snorted again as he gently tightened his fingers in Mycroft's hair. "That's the only part that I know for certain I got right. You can't tell me that if I had sunk balls-deep into that limp, hot arse of yours that this whole thing wouldn't have become a reward rather than a punishment."

He smiled as Mycroft's cheeks absolutely burned, as he pressed his face even further into his chest. "But that's how these things are supposed to go, my love. I am punished, and then I am used. My own pleasure does not enter into the picture at all."

"Pet." Greg used his grip on Mycroft's hair to tilt his head back before kissing his forehead lightly. "That may have been the case before, but that in't me. You and I both know that. When those fuckers from before would beat you silly and then have their way with you, was that something that you wanted, that you were looking forward to?" Greg shook his head as Mycroft opened his mouth, his eyes blinking up at him dazedly. "No. No, it wasn't. I know that. So it was just a continuation of the punishment. But me - oh, pet. I know how much you love it when I take you, when I fill you up with my fat prick, on either end." He smiled smugly as Mycroft's lips twisted with amusement. "My cock is a prize to you, not something just to be tolerated because you have no other choice. And that's the way I like it."

"Gregory..." Mycroft's voice was a mere murmur against his skin, and Greg shivered as he pressed in even closer.

"I understand that you're used to a certain calibre of man, Mycroft. But surely you've been with me long enough to know that in't me. If that's what you need, you should be looking elsewhere."

Mycroft's arm snaked around his middle and tightened almost painfully. "Nonono, Gregory, _no_. I want you, I need you. I love you." He sighed quietly. "But yes, you're right. I'm used to something different, and it may take me a bit longer to come to terms with that." He brushed his lips against one dusky nipple and smiled as Gregory stiffened against him. "You were quite correct to take the action that you did, my love. I would have enjoyed it too much." Mycroft glanced up and blushed faintly at the utter look of adoration on his lover’s face. "Your cock isn't the only prize, Gregory Lestrade. It is the whole of you that I cherish."

"Oh, pet..." He turned into him and ran one hand down his back oh-so-gently, smiling as Mycroft wriggled delightfully. "I love you so much. I still can't believe how fucking lucky I am. Now, let's get some sleep, alright? Give your poor abused bum a chance to heal up a bit so that maybe I can abuse it in an entirely different way in the morning. After all, that's why you left the plug in, in't it?"

"Nothing gets past you, Detective Inspector..."

They giggled together quietly for a little while and then Mycroft lessened his hold, allowing Gregory to shift slightly and reach out to turn off the lights. Then they snuggled up close again, floating away into darkness together. **  
**


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Mycroft's punishment, and a pleasant surprise in the form of one ex-Army doctor...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I wasn't sure I was actually going to get anything posted this week, even though I'm actively working on several parts all at the same time. (As well as a strictly JohnLock story that I will post as soon as it is finished - only two chapters left to go!) Hopefully I'll be able to get part V of Awakenings wrapped up before too long, although I'm not going to promise anything because whenever I do that, my muse jumps up and smacks me on the face. So yeah, no promises. Last time she left a mark on my cheek for a week at least. Bitch has a mean right hook.
> 
> Anyhow! Please read, please comment. Placate the muse so I don't wind up a bloody mess!
> 
> Kisses, all...

Mycroft blinked himself awake and lay basking in the warmth of his lover’s body for a good long while, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the exhalation of his breath as it ruffled gently at his hair. He turned his nose into Gregory’s sternum and allowed the unseemly wave of emotion he was feeling in his chest rise up and crest over, not even bothering to try to stem the tide of his tears as they leaked out of the corners of his eyes. Although his infraction the night before had truly been unintentional and relatively minor, Gregory had meted out his justice beautifully. Now he could simply relish the lingering sensitivity of the skin along his backside and bask in the aftermath of all of those delicious hormones settling into his brain. What a glorious feeling it was to be so honestly and deeply in love…

But that wasn’t all, not really. Yes, he was in love, and irrevocably so, but it was having that emotion so freely returned to him, seeing it reflected in his lover’s eyes that gave him a sense of true satisfaction. And oh, how he longed to show Gregory just how he felt. Mycroft bit his lip as he gently extricated himself from his lover’s tender grip, slithering over the expanse of the mattress and retiring to the tiny toilet. After taking care of certain pesky but rather persistent bodily necessities and removing the obstruction from a very eager orifice, he silently tip-toed back into the room to find that Gregory had shifted onto his back, one arm thrown over his eyes and the other spread out over the bed invitingly.

Perfect. Mycroft retrieved some supplies from the drawer in the bedside table and climbed back onto the mattress at his lover’s feet. Hesitating only momentarily, he lifted the blanket and hunkered down underneath, practically holding his breath to try and prolong the surprise. Not that Gregory wouldn’t be able to feel his weight as he crawled up over his legs, but still. Indeed, there was a slight shifting underneath him before too long, a quiet grunt from somewhere near the head of the bed, but nothing more beyond that. 

Either Gregory had roused and had decided that he was willing to play his game, or else the movement was naught but the usual sluggish awareness that preceded a standard morning awakening. Mycroft quickly determined that he did not particularly care which it was as he leant down over his lover’s groin, breathing in the heady aroma. Softly, gently, he nosed around at the root of Gregory’s cock, running his closed lips down the flaccid length until he came to the head. He parted his lips and pressed a kiss to the pleasing softness, gently tugging on the foreskin with the most delicate care before flickering his tongue over the opening.

Mycroft grinned as it twitched to life under his ardent attentions and continued to flick and tease with his tongue, applying gentle pressure here and there with his lips pulled firmly over his teeth. Heaving out a quiet sigh, he finally opened his mouth wide and slowly took the whole of him in, his eyes rolling back with pleasure under the cover of the blanket as Gregory grunted again, his lengthening cock hardening even further on his tongue, filling his mouth in the most delightful way imaginable. Mycroft purred low in his throat as the hearty body under his shifted and stretched, Gregory’s hips pushing up into his mouth with an easy languid grace. He kept the pressure of his tongue light and the circle of his lips loose, his intention only to kindle his lover’s flesh to full awareness, to ensure that he would be rock-hard for him. Oh, but the feel of that silky skin over the firm tissue, the heat of him and the smell of him - oh. 

He didn’t even hear the knock, not really. He was so focused on the delight that was growing in his mouth that he only became aware of the tension in Gregory’s body by proxy, as it leached into his, as he felt his spine go slightly rigid. But then the blanket was being drawn back, not too far, no - just far enough so John could get a clearer view of his mouth wrapped around their mutual lover’s cock. Mycroft glanced up at wide slate-blue eyes and absolutely beetroot red cheeks before dropping his gaze back to the task at hand, pulling off only to stroke Gregory’s soaking wet prick from root to tip and then diving back in.

“Oh, sweetheart…” Mycroft blinked and wrinkled his nose as there was a feather-light touch across his forehead, as John played idly with that one errant curl that he could never manage to tame properly. 

“Ngh. Love…” Gregory’s voice held a warning, yes, but also carried in it a note of desperation that Mycroft was absolutely thrilled to hear.

“Yes, I know.” John sighed quietly and took a step away from the bed. “I was just going to ask if you two wanted to come down for breakfast, but you’re clearly otherwise occupied.” He turned a bright smile on the both of them as he pulled the chair away from the desk and settled down on it a respectable distance away. “So I guess I’ll just have to take in a little pre-dining entertainment instead…” 

Mycroft moaned low in his chest as Gregory chuckled quietly, reaching down to run his broad fingers through his hair and tug at the red strands gently. “Pet. Why don’t you take your reward for being so good for me last night?” He winked down at Mycroft’s little eye-roll, grinning broadly as he pulled off and dug about under the blanket, brandishing both the condom and the bottle of lube that he had thought to procure beforehand.

He glanced to the side as John made a noise of extreme interest, crossing his legs and leaning back in the chair. It was but the work of a moment to sheathe Gregory’s cock and slick it up properly, but Mycroft hesitated for just a bit longer before crawling up his body, resolutely dragging the blanket along with him. Gregory blinked and smiled slowly, giving him a little nod of approval. 

Mycroft bit his lip as he once again looked at John, feeling his cheeks heating abominably. It wasn’t that he wanted to hide himself, not really. He knew that his lover’s lover would be seeing every bit of him at some point - this was just the beginning, the first step in a more inclusive relationship between all of them. He almost laughed as Gregory reached underneath him and eagerly positioned his cock just so, enabling Mycroft to sink down onto him while still holding the blanket closed around his middle. Just the beginning, and John was already going to be witness to him riding their mutual lover as though he were a carousel horse…

Oh - but...oh. Mycroft threw his head back as Gregory pushed into him, filling him so beautifully. Yes, this was the final piece that he had been missing, that gentle and tender violation, that sweet surrender. It was just as Gregory had said the night before - this was his prize, and it would have been wrong to include this act as part of the scene last night, as part of his punishment. But today - oh, today it was perfect.

“Oh, you beauty.” Mycroft hoisted the blanket just a little higher as he once again looked to the side, into a face that was alight with desire and fascination in equal measure. John licked his lips as his eyes darkened with lust. “Greg, you are one lucky son of a bitch.”

“Oh, this I know very well, my love. Luckiest bastard in all of England, that’s for sure.” Greg grunted quietly as Mycroft rolled his hips, a tiny smirk playing around the corners of his lips. “Jesus, pet.” He returned his sly grin as there was another indiscriminate noise from off to the side, rummaging about until his fingers made contact with the small bottle of lube. Without warning, Gregory tossed it in John’s direction, laughing quietly as the smaller man cursed before letting out an ‘ooh’ of delight.

Mycroft tilted his head and splayed one light hand over his lover’s sternum, the both of them rocking together, settling into a gentle and steady rhythm, that ancient dance. He let his eyes drift closed as they moved, shrinking his awareness down to the place where they were connected. Not just that glorious cock buried deep, but the pulse of Gregory’s heartbeat under his fingers, his own blood responding to the ebb and flow of the river flowing in his lover’s veins. He was acutely aware of Gregory’s hands caressing him, feeling the roughness of his callused fingers ghosting over and down his ribs and tweaking at his nipples. 

He could tell how close his steed was by nothing more than the stuttered sound of his breathing, how it transitioned from smooth and deep to harsh and shallow. There was an answering gasp from beside them, an echo of his Gregory’s need, and the sound compelled Mycroft to open his eyes. He let his gaze slide up Gregory’s body, locking eyes with him for just a moment, his silent enquiry being acknowledged and agreed to with a saucy wink even through the haze of his lover’s desire. Permission having been granted, Mycroft let his hips move a little faster as he twisted his torso, bringing his full attention to rest on the man at their side, his fully florid cock in his hand, stroking in time to their rhythm.

Mycroft bit his lip as John’s eyes caressed his torso, his shoulders, watching with somewhat envious eyes as Gregory’s fingers fiddled with his rosy pink nipples. He could feel the weight of his steely-blue gaze upon him almost as though it was a physical touch, shivering under the illusory sensation of fingers trailing up and down his spine, of ghostly lips kissing every freckle dotting the expanse of his shoulders. Mycroft’s neck twisted almost uncomfortably as he felt a shadowy but sharp nip along his jugular, a gentle tug at his earlobe. It was Gregory’s cock driving into him, yes, but he swiftly realised that John was the one that was making love to him with nothing more than his eyes. 

With that thought in his mind and with the sudden sensation of Gregory beginning to lose control, his steady rocking shifting into something more intense and needy, Mycroft’s mouth fell open and he moaned, long and low. It broke the unusual silence that had built up between the three men, and John responded with a loud gasp as he squirmed on his seat, his bare feet pushing up against the floor and against the legs of the chair, seemingly searching for something solid to help him gain leverage as he fucked up into his fist. Gregory’s body quaked underneath him, and he knew without looking that his dark eyes were glancing back and forth between their faces almost frantically, not trying to break into their bubble, but certainly loathe to miss any of what was passing between them. 

Gregory broke first, his hands scrabbling to grab at Mycroft’s waist as he thrust up hard and deep, his body breaking out into wracking tremors as he pushed up with his legs and pulled his lover down hard. Mycroft moaned again as he felt the minute twitch within him, that erratic pulse that indicated Gregory’s release. Oh, he would soon have the pleasure of feeling more than just the jerking of his flesh - yes, soon, he would feel the hot rush of fluid deep within and oh, oh what a wonderful day that would be. 

John followed soon thereafter, his pleasure rushing out of him in three strong jets, his come being captured quite efficiently with his left hand cupped over the head. Mycroft watched with greedy eyes and a slack mouth as John spent himself, his face twisting up into a harsh grimace before his entire being seemed to just sink into the chair with a long groan of relief. Gregory moaned quietly and Mycroft stole a quick glance at his face, confirming that his eyes were locked on the very same bounty that held his sincere interest. 

Gregory moaned again. “Love…”

"No, you nasty dirty thing.” John huffed out a laugh. “Bad idea.”

Gregory pouted adorably even as he fought back on a grin. “I have no intention of sharing, you know.” Then it was Mycroft’s turn to pout and he flashed his pique on the both of them in equal measure, causing them to immediately make conciliatory noises, murmuring at him and in Gregory’s case, petting him softly. 

John still shook his head, although it was a bit sadly. “Intentions be damned. We both know that one flutter of those eyes and you’d give it all over without even thinking twice. Watching, love. That’s all. No tasting allowed, even if you do try to slither your way around the rules.” With that, he struggled to his feet and shuffled off to the bathroom with his pants and pyjama bottoms tangled rather awkwardly around his thighs, holding his left hand close to his bits to try and contain his mess.

Gregory chuckled at him quietly as they watched him go, continuing to pet Mycroft, slowly bringing him down to lay on his chest. “What about you, hm? We could keep him entertained for a bit longer, if you’d like to get off…”

"Not just yet, my love. I am perfectly content as I am right now.”

Gregory hummed and planted his nose in the top of his head, breathing him in deeply. “Alright, pet. Oh, but you make me so happy…”

Mycroft felt a swift burst of pride blooming in his chest and turned his face into his lover’s sternum, hiding his unbecoming blush.

“So precious, the two of you. I don’t know whether to melt into the floor or maybe dose myself with insulin to counteract the sweetness.” John tilted his head as Mycroft sat up on his perch, once again holding the blanket up to cover his naughtiest bits. “Such a coquette.” Mycroft blushed heartily and opened his mouth to protest, but John laid one finger over his lips with a soft smile. “No. It’s good. You’re so lovely, and you know how to appeal to the basest of men’s desires.” He trailed his fingers down over one shoulder with a soft sigh. “Revealing just a taste of your creamy skin, flashing that elegant curve of your spine as you moved over him - keeping yourself concealed just enough to really spark the imagination… It may not have been quite the effect that you were going for, but Jesus… Sweetheart, you drove me wild.”

Mycroft blinked disbelievingly as John bent to give Gregory a kiss and then went up on his tip-toes to press his lips to his cheek. He looked between them tenderly as he stepped to the door. “I’ll wait to start the tea - maybe an hour or so? You don’t have to join us right away if you don’t want to, but I will expect to see you both down there at some point during the day.” He winked at Mycroft as he opened the door and stepped out. “Especially because I do still expect you to cook that roast, Mycroft Holmes.”

“Preferably before my little brother gets bored with his meat puzzle, of course.”

John’s quiet laughter was cut off as the door closed behind him, and Gregory immediately pushed the blanket away, his dark eyes raking over his body greedily. “Beautiful. Oh, my sweet pet…” Mycroft sighed as his lover’s hands clamped down over his hips, holding him tight as he ground up into his body. “Such a show you put on for us, you delightful hussy. John’s right - you know just how to display yourself to the greatest advantage, my love.”

Mycroft blushed and slithered out of his grip, dismounting before reaching down and carelessly slipping the soiled condom off, deliberately leaving quite a bit of mess behind. Gregory’s breath hitched in his chest as he caught the look of pure hunger on his pet’s face, watching intently as Mycroft leant down and licked up every drop of come that had dripped out onto his skin. He hummed and snarled quietly as he worked, nuzzling into the damp curls surrounding his lover’s cock and taking his softened length into his mouth to ensure that every little bit had been whisked away. Once his lover was clean, Mycroft blew a gentle breath over his bits, giggling to himself as that lovely thick prick jumped under his scrutiny.

“Jesus, pet.” Gregory sat up abruptly and grabbed Mycroft by the shoulders, bringing him up for a thorough and rather eye-crossing snog. He growled low and shifted onto his knees, sliding behind Mycroft on the bed and encouraging him to go down on all fours. “I want to see.” Mycroft eagerly complied, letting out a huff of amusement as Gregory cooed delightfully from behind him. “Ooh. Still a little pink and puffy back here, my sweet.” He delivered a swift poke to one trembling arse-cheek, laughing wildly as Mycroft jumped and squealed. Greg sobered up as his pet moaned quietly and squirmed in front of him, his head dropping between his arms. “It… It’s not too bad?”

“Gregory, stop.” Mycroft hummed as he reached behind with one hand, squeezing at his still sensitive flesh nice and hard. His hum turned into another low moan. “Mm, feels good. Honestly - this is nothing, my love.”

He bit his lip as the atmosphere in the room changed quite suddenly, his lover’s mood switching from curious and gleeful to something pensive and uneasy. Gregory draped himself over his back, making sure to slot his flaccid member in the cleft of Mycroft’s arse as he wrapped his arms around his torso and tucked his cheek into the curve of his neck. “Was it always… I mean, did any of them care for you at all? Did you care for them in return? Was it nothing but them using the shell of your body with no regard for the person within?” 

Mycroft sighed and rocked his body slightly, smiling as Gregory understood his intention immediately, rolling them both until they were cradled up on their sides together. He chewed on his bottom lip a little more forcefully as he contemplated, all too aware that his lover was waiting on him patiently. Mycroft knew that he would always answer any of Gregory’s queries as truthfully as he was able, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he needed to share every detail, either…


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tender heart-to-heart. Or two...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) Poor Myc. But at least he's getting reassurance from all corners...
> 
> Kisses, my lovelies...
> 
> *mwah*

Mycroft took in a deep breath as he calculated the correct phrasing in his head. “I would say that most were relatively...neutral. They were generally one-time playmates and nothing more. Even though I enjoyed being used for their pleasure for the most part, there were far too many encounters where something was simply - missing. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it might be, though. I was so focused on the physical sensations that perhaps I neglected my emotions, or simply pretended that I didn’t have any - just like any good Holmes was supposed to do. I persevered like that for many years, searching for...something. But then you - you came into my brother’s life, and by proxy, into mine and there was just something about you…” Mycroft hummed and wriggled into Gregory’s body as his arms tightened around him. “I think that meeting you knocked a bit of the rust off the chains that I had unknowingly wrapped around my heart, that perhaps it left me open for the possibility of more. It was shortly after you that I became better acquainted with the only other man that I truly would come to care for after a fashion.”

Mycroft hesitated, running his fingers up and down his lover’s arm. “We may have even loved each other if things had happened differently… He had a rather remarkable ability to simply see into me and draw out the things that needed illumination. Although he could be delightfully forceful, he didn’t continually rub my nose in my mistakes like some of the others had. His goal was never to punish me for the same thing over and over, it was to help me learn not to do it again, so we could celebrate those small victories together. And he had a whimsical sense of humour that you would have liked very much, Gregory. He liked it when I laughed, especially when it was because of him that I was doing it. None of the others did that. They’d much rather hear me whimper than giggle…”

“Pet…”

“Hush, my love. They’re gone now - all gone. There’s only you.”

“Yes, and you’re all mine.” Greg nosed into Mycroft’s hair briefly and hummed contentedly. “So tell me more about him.”

“He - Jack - was almost as remarkable as you, very insightful and rather intuitive about my lack of self-worth. He saw that I needed to be controlled, that perhaps I would flourish under someone’s strict care.” Gregory reached down and flicked a nail over one of the rings of his cock-cage and laughed quietly as Mycroft jumped. “Indeed. After an appalling lack of restraint at my offices one day, he broached the subject of enforced chastity and I readily agreed. Of course it took a fair bit of experimentation to settle on this particular model…”

“So this is the same cage, then?”

“Well, yes.”

Greg blinked into the top of Mycroft’s head for a moment. Obviously, he hadn’t considered the connotations of a long-term sex toy essentially being handed down from a previous owner, even if it was something custom and no doubt extremely expensive. But if they had chosen it together, didn’t that mean something? It wasn’t like an engagement ring or anything, but still…

Mycroft seemed to sense the unspoken question, understanding why his lover didn’t want to simply ask. “Yes, it’s the same device, but it’s not the same lock and key, Gregory. That’s what holds the meaning, after all. Only three men have had their own padlock. I keep Jack’s in a safe place, and Josef’s was - well - burned extensively and hammered into near oblivion before I buried the shrapnel in my back garden. There may also have been some acid involved at a certain point. It’s a little hazy, considering the amount of alcohol I had in my system during my little destructive rampage…”

“Jesus, pet.” Mycroft swallowed, waiting to hear the one question he knew Gregory wanted to ask, not willing to simply offer up the information without being prompted. “So what happened to this Jack of yours, then?”

“He died. Or at least he was declared dead. They never retrieved a body, which wasn’t entirely unusual for the region he had been working in.” Mycroft cleared his throat against the lump in his chest, blinking back tears. “Throughout our time together, he had worked very hard to try to convince me that I was a valued individual, that I was worthy of...anything at all. I was beginning to believe him, starting to think that maybe he and I… But then when Sherlock…”

Gregory immediately soothed him, humming into his hair and rocking him slightly. “I know, pet. You don’t have to say it.”

“Jack - he kept trying to reach me, but every time I saw him it was like he was reminding me of my failure to protect my little brother. I finally sent him away - sent him back into active duty in the field, the further away from me the better. He - he was good at what he did, very good, but he’d been away for something like two years, and oh - oh, I was so cruel. I could have sent him back into training to brush up his skills but I just wanted him gone and oh God Gregory I sent him to his death I may as well have pulled the trigger myself…”

Mycroft twisted in his arms and planted his face in his chest, letting the tears flow. Greg instinctively understood that Mycroft probably hadn’t ever spoken of this to anyone, that perhaps the boil had just needed to be lanced to relieve some of the pressure. Oh, but he ached for him - knowing that he had been cared for in the past, perhaps even loved a little bit and that he blamed himself for his lost lover… Oh. Knowing that there were no words he could utter to make this even the tiniest bit better, he simply held on tight and waited for the poison to purge itself.

Now it was all too easy to imagine just how low he must have been when Josef had managed to get his claws into him. But that was all said and done these days, wasn’t it? The weasel had been banished, and his pet was in his bed and in his heart, right where he belonged. As long and as arduous as the journey had been, Mycroft’s twisty and no doubt thorny path had led him home - led him here, to his arms.

Greg hummed quietly and continued to rock their bodies together as Mycroft’s tears tapered off into the occasional hiccough. “H-he would be proud of me if he could see me today.”

“Yes, pet. I imagine he would be. And so you should be proud of yourself as well, yeah?”

Mycroft lifted his face from the shelter of his lover’s chest and smiled shakily. “Yes, my love. I shall endeavour to honour his memory by virtue of my inflated ego and my renewed faith in myself.”

“Smart-arse.”

“Truly, Jack would be so pleased.”

“Oh, I know he would.” Greg played with Mycroft’s hair as his long fingers combed through the curls on his chest, his cool grey eyes distant with unfathomable emotion. They simply lay together for a long while, taking comfort in nothing more than the sound of their breathing, the faint thump of their heartbeats.

Until Gregory’s stomach decided to make a rather forceful statement about its sad state of affairs by grumbling rather loudly. Mycroft giggled as his lover blushed. “I would say that the hour allotted to us is just about up, and it seems that perhaps a certain someone needs to be fed anyhow.”

Greg gently took Mycroft’s face in his hands and kissed either eyelid reverently before looking deeply into his eyes. “Are - are you alright, pet? It’s okay if you need to take a little time to yourself, you know. I want you to be as easy and comfortable here as you are in your own home.”

Mycroft blinked back a fresh set of tears and nodded. “I do appreciate that, my love. But I want to be with you. Truly.”

“Good.” Greg hesitated briefly as he tangled their legs together. “And…well. Understand that you absolutely don’t have to talk about anything in your past that you don’t want to. But I think that maybe if you shared some stories of your Jack - maybe you wouldn’t feel so burdened by the way that things ended.”

“But it was wholly my responsibility, Gregory. He was a good man. A very good man, and I let him down. I can never relieve myself of the burden of that knowledge.”

“You don’t have to punish yourself for it either. Not anymore.” Mycroft trembled as Gregory tilted his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes, dark and so full of love that it made him gasp. “That’s why you stayed with the weasel for so long, wasn’t it? Each time he struck you, you told yourself that it was for Jack. That you deserved the pain and the humiliation as some form of penance. Am I right?”

“Per-perhaps.”

“I want you to forget about all of that, Mycroft. I want you to start remembering the good things. Like I said, you don’t have to share if you don’t want to, but I’d like to know that you weren’t always alone, that there were other men who cared for you and looked after you. It breaks my heart to think that I’m the only one ever to have made you happy. If...if you can, I’d like to know how your Jack made you laugh, how he showed you that you were worthy of his time, his affection.” Mycroft looked up at him a little dubiously, breaking out into gentle giggles as Gregory ruffled at his hair. “No, you silly thing, it won’t make me jealous.”

“I will - consider it, my love.” He tapped at his lover’s chest with one elegant finger as he appeared to contemplate. “I could tell you of the time that I played at being a 50s-era housewife to fulfil one of his fantasies…”

He giggled again as Gregory’s eyes lit up. “Ooh. Satiny underthings?” Mycroft nodded solemnly. “Real silk stockings with the seam and all? Held up with actual suspenders?”

“Of course. Only the best, you understand. A lovely string of pearls and patent leather heels, too. My ‘husband’ knew just how to keep me happy, and I was ever so grateful in showing him how just much I appreciated that.”

Gregory groaned softly. “Oh, yes, pet.”

He bit his lip with a little wrinkle between his brow, making Mycroft giggle and nod. “Yes, my love, I do still have the outfit. It was quite a few years ago, and I’ve plumped up a bit, but it might still fit.” He cupped one hand over his chest and squeezed gently. “I might actually fill out the brassiere a bit more pleasantly this time around…”

Gregory instantly rolled him over and clamped his hands over his nipples, kneading at the flesh and pushing his hands together, planting his face in the crease over his sternum. Mycroft shrieked merrily as he blew a resounding raspberry into the crevice, writhing underneath him as he was tickled relentlessly. “Killing me, pet. Boobs or no boobs, I love you just the way you are. And ye gods, but I would absolutely adore seeing you in satin and lace.”

“You may just get your wish, my dear.”

“We’ll make new memories to complement the old. I don’t want your remembrances to be coloured by what we do, though. Keep your thoughts of Jack sacred, my love. If anything that I want threatens to overwrite what you had with him, you just tell me so, and I’ll back off. I respect you, and I respect the life that you had with him before it went bad. I don’t want to erase that.”

“Gregory…” Mycroft knew that his voice and his face were full of nothing but wonder, but he found it quite impossible to rein in. “He was right about you.” He blushed as his lover tilted his head inquisitively. “Jack. You may not remember, but you two actually met, albeit very briefly.”

“I do remember. I also distinctly remember you neatly cutting off what was promising to be an extremely exciting and no doubt vigorously healthy shag in the gents.”

Mycroft groaned in mortification. “I was so selfish - I had just found you, and I didn’t want him to… God, that was rude, wasn’t it?”

“Horribly.” Gregory pecked him on the tip of the nose and grinned down at him. “But I forgive you.”

“I’m glad. That evening was the first time that he and I - well. After a very surprisingly pleasant encounter, he more or less told me that you were the one I needed, but that neither of us were ready.” Mycroft smiled softly as Gregory’s eyebrows rose up his forehead. “I did say that he was remarkably intuitive, did I not? He unpacked my feelings toward Sherlock quite handily as well - his insights were almost uncanny. He was…”

Greg bestowed another kiss, this one to the centre of Mycroft’s forehead as his voice petered out. “Jack. He was your Jack.” Mycroft nodded silently up at him, blinking rapidly. “And you miss him.”

Mycroft’s eyes widened in alarm, but once again, his lover’s face was so open and suffused with such understanding that he could only nod again and answer. “Yes. There are times that I miss him terribly.”

“Oh, my sweet pet. I wish to God that you didn’t have that hurt in your heart, but truthfully, I am still glad that there was someone else, someone who saw beyond the pleasures of your physical form.” Greg lifted himself up on his hands and knees, his eyes caressing every creamy curve of Mycroft’s form. “As undeniably beautiful as your body is, my love, the real treasure is here.” He leant up to kiss his forehead again. “You are a remarkable individual, and it makes me happy to know that someone else was privileged enough to experience that.”

“Gregory, I…” Mycroft paused as there was another mighty grumble from his lover’s midsection, watching with upraised brows as Gregory’s face twisted in embarrassment. He giggled and raised both hands to poke him in the sides, letting out an ‘oof’ as his solid weight landed on him and then rolled away. Mycroft followed him, swiftly straddling his waist and continuing to tickle him relentlessly, delighting in the sight of firm stomach muscles clenching down hard to fight back the inevitable giggles. He stilled as Gregory’s angry tummy let out another snarl, shaking his head as he smiled down at him. “That’s something you have in common with Jack beyond me - his stomach was just as irascible at times.” Mycroft reluctantly slid off his legs and stood, beginning to root around in his overnight bag for a set of clothing.

Greg sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed, watching with interest as Mycroft hung some items in the wardrobe and donned others, a simple set of satiny pyjamas. He blushed as he turned to face him, holding out his leather trousers. “I couldn’t help but notice that you weren’t wearing any pants under these…”

Greg countered with a faint blush of his own. “Ruins the neat lines.” He winked saucily. “And they feel so much better on my skin without…” He tilted his head briefly. “Not sure I should wear these downstairs, though. They had quite the effect on both John and Sherlock, you know.”

“That isn’t difficult to imagine.” Mycroft’s voice was a little drier than he had intended, and his blush renewed when Gregory cocked his head just so.

Greg stood and stretched. “I’ll just pop down like this. After all, it’s nothing they haven’t seen before!” He pecked Mycroft on the cheek and breezily wandered out the door and down the stairs, bare as the day he was born. Mycroft simply had to stand at the head of the stairs and watch as he descended, feeling embarrassingly grateful that he could rely on his restrictive device to keep him contained. Otherwise he most likely would wind up mortifying his little brother and titillating John in equal measure throughout the day.

When he had managed to tame his careening heartbeat, neatly hanging both the leather trousers and jacket in the process, Mycroft headed downstairs himself, going directly into the kitchen. John was already preparing the tea, and turned around as Mycroft touched his shoulder gently. Without a word spoken, John opened his arms to him and turned his cheek into his chest as he was embraced somewhat hesitantly. After getting a firm squeeze of encouragement, Mycroft tightened his own hold and pressed his lips to the top of his tawny head, their bodies swaying together gently.

“Thank you for earlier, sweetheart. You looked so lovely on top of him like that. It’s so easy to see how much you care for each other, and oh - it’s so beautiful.”

“I don’t know quite… Obviously, this is the first time I’ve been involved in such a - convoluted - situation. I find that I never know what to expect. It’s rather nerve-wracking.” Mycroft’s cheeks bloomed with colour as John tilted his head back and quirked an eyebrow at him. “And exciting… I would hasten to reassure you that I did not intend to hide myself from you, not really, I just…”

“Shh, sweetness. That isn’t necessary. Whatever you’re comfortable with, that’s what we’ll do. Really. You don’t have to explain yourself.” The kettle clicked off, and John took a step away to pour the boiling water into the mugs he had at the ready.

Mycroft blinked at the neat line of hair at the nape of John’s neck as he twisted his fingers together anxiously. “You’re so blasted understanding - it’s really quite disconcerting.”

John turned back and leant up against the counter with his hands on his hips. “Would you rather I grumped about you stealing my man or some other macho ridiculousness? Shove you around and maybe try to put you in your place?”

Mycroft shook his head definitively even as his brain lit up with, _‘yes, yes’_ , his heartbeat sounding in his ears. “N-not exactly. I just - well.” He cleared his throat uneasily as John tilted his head, his entire posture radiating an attitude of intense watchfulness. “I-I am sure that you know that my past partners have not been the most - er - supportive or understanding. I am not used to being treated with such selfless kindness and consideration, especially when I was merely a piece on the side, as it were.”

“You aren’t a piece of _anything_ , Mycroft. You’re a valued member of this family.” John’s tone was warm, but also flat, leaving absolutely no room for Mycroft to object.

Not that he didn’t try, flailing his arms in John’s general direction as his eyes took on a desperate gleam. “That is precisely what I mean! Logically, I know that what you say is true - I am not denying the honesty of your words. But there is still some part of me that is anticipating some cruel twist in the game.” Mycroft held up his hands as John immediately moved to protest. “Yes, again, logically, I know that this isn’t a game for you or for Gregory, that neither of you would ever seek to toy with my emotions in that manner.” He took in a deep breath to calm himself, smoothing his hands down his pyjama top. “It is my own failing, and I am striving to correct it. I merely wanted to let you know that if there are times that I seem particularly anxious while in your presence, please do not take it to heart. I have most likely reverted, and am simply waiting for…”

“For the hammer to fall, perhaps?” John sighed and shook his head as Mycroft turned mournful eyes on him. “It isn’t going to happen, you silly thing. We’re all going to work together to retrain your mind out of those less than favourable thoughts. If you start to feel jumpy around me for any reason, you tell me and we’ll figure out why together. Let Greg know, or even just walk away. As I said, you’re part of this family now, and family understands when someone needs some time to themselves. Heaven knows that there are some weeks that we hardly even see your brother’s curly head up here…”

They simply looked at each other for a while, until Mycroft felt his heart beginning to calm itself. John’s arms twitched as though he wanted to pull him into an embrace, but he very kindly restrained himself, obviously content to let Mycroft be the one to take that step. **  
**


End file.
